


The Wayward Avenger

by blackchaps



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Betrayal, Hurt/Comfort, I am an idiot for writing this, M/M, Not linear, POV Alternating, Violence, time jumps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:29:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 34,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8753428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: Working for SHIELD is great. Really. Clint loves his job, or Coulson, or maybe just Coulson, and Fury is wily bastard. Stark doesn't seem so bad, so why is Clint running for his life, or maybe to his life? One thing for sure, Natasha is pissed!





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

> Posting in chapters because of the insane way I wrote this fucked up story. Good gravy, I'm not sure it even makes sense. Set After Iron Man 2 and before Avengers, more Earth’s Mightiest Heroes than MCU. This is complete, but it may take me a couple of days to get it all up. My computer is an actual dinosaur. Some of the chapters are short, some long, and hopefully, this'll work out in the end. Please read the chapter titles so you have a tiny chance of understanding what is going on before you write this off. (facepalm)

********

“Let me spell it out for you, Hawkeye. Agent Coulson wrote you off. You screwed up the last mission because you refused to take the time your knee needed to heal, and now I find you down here, sniffing around Stark’s ass. You’re fired.”

Clint clenched his jaw, refusing to look and see Stark’s reaction. “I’m the best sniper you have!”

“I got a new Hawkeye, and she’s just as good without all the baggage. The doctors say your knee will never be the same. You’re done.” Fury put his hands on his hips. “Try leaving with some dignity, for a change.”

“Hey, he was down here to keep an eye on me. Making sure I didn’t blow the place up.” Stark stepped into Clint’s line of sight. “Don’t be stupid, Fury.”

“I said you could have this space to store your armor when you were on board the helicarrier. I didn’t say you could fuck with my agents. When you’re finished, I want you gone. We’ll call you if we need you.” Fury put his hand to his earbud. “Security, escort Mr. Barton to his quarters and then the waiting quinjet.”

Anger and denial made Clint blurt, “Coulson didn’t write me off! You reassigned him!”

“Because he asked.” Fury sighed. “Look, Barton. You were a good agent, usually, but you screwed up. Now, own it and go find another job somewhere else.”

********


	2. Five Days Earlier

********

Tony knew he wasn’t the most observant guy, but when an extra set of hands materialized out of nowhere and helped him move the heavy, metal table where he wanted it, he noticed. “Thanks. I mean, I didn’t need it, but thanks.”

“You’re welcome, not that I care.” The guy smirked, leaned against the table, and didn’t come close to meeting Tony’s gaze. “You’re Stark?”

Not answering was usually the best option. Tony checked his phone instead, saying, “Jarvis, use the helmet to put the schematic on the wall.”

“You will utilize welding gloves, sir?”

“Sure,” Tony lied. He picked up the helmet, set it on the table, and nodded when the plans lit up the blank wall. The rest of the armor rested on the floor in various poses. Getting it on was going to be the hard part here on the helicarrier. He needed his armor bots, but he didn’t trust SHIELD not to turn them into missiles or something while his back was turned. Maybe he could embed them in the walls with self-destruct buttons. He was never mentioning that idea to JARVIS.

Fury had offered him a crew, but Tony had turned him down. It meant more hauling, but Tony didn’t trust them, and he looked up. Smirk face was still there, sitting on the table, playing with the helmet.

“Move away from the tech, handsy,” Tony said with no real anger. “You don’t have the three million dollars it would cost to replace that.”

“I bet I could come up with something for you.” Smirky grinned. “A football helmet would probably get the job done.” He put the helmet down and flashed his hand several times in front of the projected image. “I’m Clint Barton, by the way. Hawkeye.”

“Way too much information,” Tony muttered, pacing over to stare at the schematic of the project. Now that he’d seen the space, he’d make a few adjustments as he went.

“Watermelon helmets are good, too. Eat the delicious part, wear it around for a while. Sturdy.”

When the words sunk in, Tony turned to stare at him and tilt his head. “Are you disabled? Is there someone I should call?”

“The eternal question.” Barton grinned. “I’m going for coffee. You want?”

Tony hefted his tool box up on the table. It was time to get busy. “Are you still here?”

“People say you’re an asshole. I see it now.”

Or, Barton said something like that. Tony had heard it a million times, and it bounced off his ears. He grinned as he got out his acetylene torch.

********

Clint took a nap before heading back down to lower level forty-two. He’d told himself not to bother twice, but curiosity was usually his downfall. He waited to enter the room until Stark’s back was turned and then found a perch out of the way on a big crate.

“Where’s my coffee?” Stark didn’t look at him.

Clint’s mouth might’ve dropped open. He blurted, “You got stones, man.”

“What I don’t have is coffee,” Stark grumbled. He tossed down a piece of equipment like it was junk and stretched, hands over his head. “How much security should I pack into this room?”

“Everything you got. Fury wants your suit. Bad.” Clint wasn’t sure why he was being honest. He usually wasn’t, but maybe he liked poking Fury in his one eye. “Don’t forget the floor. It’s thin in spots. They’d cut through and hijack your suit in a second.”

Now, Stark turned to him, leaning back the table and crossing his arms over his chest. He looked nothing like one of the richest men in the world. He was dressed in dark cargo pants, work boots, and a white undershirt with a T-shirt over, but it didn’t hide the glow from his chest. Clint had read the reports, and he had no desire to touch the thing. It might be rigged to blow.

“Security cameras?”

“I counted four in this room. Did you put them up?” Clint didn’t look at them, no reason to pamper Stark.

“No.” Stark sighed and scrubbed a hand through his dark hair. “Audio and visual, I assume.”

Clint shrugged, sure he didn’t care. He spent every moment of his day and night under surveillance. At first, he’d been careful to toe the line. Now, he didn’t give a shit. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring a coffee pot and supplies.”

Stark glared at him. “Jarvis wouldn’t let me!”

“You’re pussy whipped by a computer.” Clint knew all about JARVIS and thought it was damn freaky. “It wasn’t like he could stop you.”

“You don’t know Jarvis,” Stark muttered. “Get me one, supplies as well, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Now, Clint was interested. “I want arrows that--.”

“Stopping you right there,” Stark interrupted him, putting up a hand. “I don’t make weapons anymore.”

“Bullshit.” Clint rolled his eyes, hopping down from the crate. “Your suit is a weapon. War Machine is a weapon. I bet you have a weapon in your pocket.”

Expecting a quick retort, Clint prepared his next volley, but Stark turned away, shrugging. He picked up some sort of box and started screwing with it. Clint frowned, needing to finish the argument. In a way, he got it. Stark made weapons that he could control. If he gave arrows to Clint, Clint might kill someone with them, and Stark would feel responsible. Okay, Clint _would_ kill someone. It was his job, killing people and blowing stuff up.

Coulson had said otherwise, but that had been a lie. One lie of many and Clint had enjoyed each and every one of them.

“I’ll be back.” Clint headed for the storeroom to liberate the needed items. No man should go without coffee, not even an asshole like Stark.


	3. Now

********

So angry he was sure he’d punch Fury in his patch, Clint turned and stalked to his quarters, refusing to stand there and argue when it was clearly a done deal. So, he was fired. No big shock. He’d been expecting it for years. Coulson had always told him it was ridiculous, but that was another thing Coulson had lied about. It wasn’t Coulson’s fault. Clint never should have believed a minute of it. He’d let Coulson and his pretty words lull him.

Never again. Life sucked. Clint knew that. No surprise when it sucked today. He opened the door to his quarters about the time security got there. They gave him a smirk because they knew he was going out with the trash. Nothing traveled faster on the helicarrier than gossip.

He slammed the door behind him and threw the lock, but he was leaving. No argument there. He headed for his closet, pulling up short right inside his bedroom.

“Agent Barton,” Hill said, sitting on the side of his bed, poised like a dancer. “Take a deep breath.”

Clint clenched his fist. “I never saw you as the kind to gloat.”

“You’re not fired.”

********


	4. Four days earlier

********

“Do you realize how it pains my body to consume Folgers coffee? It’s like pouring sand into the engine of a Ferrari. My palate is refined. My veins demand nothing but the finest beans in the world.”

Clint threw his rubber ball against the far wall and caught it without trying. He’d made a place to sit on the big crate that moved around the room on Stark’s whims. “That’s your second pot, isn’t it?”

Stark made a sour face at him. “That has nothing to do with it. I feel dirty inside.”

Laughing, Clint threw it again, trying for two bounces and one rebound. It slapped into his hand. “You’re a filthy guy. You pretend to be some rich snob, but you’re nothing but a grease monkey.”

“Why are you down here? To harass your better? Hoping I’ll teach you to read?” Stark threw insults right back at him. Clint liked that about him. The ball bounced off the Iron Man helmet, and Stark snatched it out of the air with surprisingly quick reflexes. “You’re nothing but a pest. A circus freak with an unhealthy attachment to arrows and no taste whatsoever in coffee!”

“This from the guy who flies around in gold and red, like some metal Vegas stripper.” Clint collapsed back flat, laughing. He did like arrows, but there was nothing wrong with that. The ball came flying Clint’s direction, and he stretched up to catch it. “And if I’m a freak, aren’t you some kind of medical monster?”

Stark didn’t answer, head bent over a panel that he was wiring. Clint hopped down and strolled to get his own cup of coffee. It was good. Stark was wrong, as usual. He also smelled weird, like burned metal. Clint considered offering him a shower and a bed, but Stark wasn’t a kid. He could take care of himself.

“Medical miracle is more accurate.”

“That’s me, too. A circus miracle,” Clint said with flair, taking an extravagant bow that he knew looked damn good.

“You are a circus clown.” But Stark laughed. He straightened, tossed his device in a perfect arc into the tool box, and took a stretch. “My eyes are starting to swirl. I’ve hit the wall.”

“Are you sure you’re not experiencing some sort of caffeine overload?” Clint hadn’t seen Stark eat, just drink coffee, lots of it.

“Positive. Totally different feeling.” Stark went to the table and slid up on it to lie flat with his hands on his chest. “Give me twenty, and I’ll get back at it.”

Clint stared at him, frowning. There was a tiny urge here to insist Stark eat, get him a shower, and make sure he slept. Clint blamed Coulson. Some of the mother hen instinct must have rubbed off. “I’m not your alarm.”

“I was talking to Jarvis,” Stark mumbled, eyes shut, and as Clint watched, he fell asleep. In, like, ten seconds. That was a hard-earned skill, and Clint was impressed, reluctantly.

Taking his coffee, Clint went the direction of the cafeteria. He was hungry, even if Stark wasn’t. Halfway there, he turned a corner and came face-to-face with Director Fury. Neither of them stepped aside.

“Barton, I’m damn sick of getting notes from medical that you refuse to go to physical therapy.”

“My leg is fine.” Clint didn’t need their help to stretch and do exercises. “I’m ready for a mission right now.”

“Bullshit.” Fury glared at him. “You’d end up dead, and Romanoff would track me down to rip off my nuts.”

“When is she due back from Croatia?” Clint missed her, but he doubted she’d go that far. She’d be peeved but not killing mad, if something happened to him, which it wouldn’t because he was fine.

“Classified.” Fury looked him up and down. “Did someone ask you to look after Stark?”

“If they did, I wouldn’t do it.” Clint edged to the side. “When is Coulson coming back?”

Fury sighed. “He’s doing good work in New York. He told me himself that he has a girlfriend, and they’re talking rings. Leave it alone. That’s an order.”

The words felt like blows to the side of Clint’s head. He managed a rough grin, saying, “Yes, sir.” What he wanted to do was scream a thousand curses, but he shoved it all down. Coulson had been gone weeks, nothing but a few goddamn weeks. Clint ducked his head and went on without asking permission. He needed a minute to get his face under control. Taking deep breaths, he slipped into a supply closet and stood in the dark, so angry.

So many lies. Clint threw the coffee so it splattered, punched the wall, and tried not to collapse to the floor. He’d trusted. He’d placed his faith carelessly. Again. He just never learned.

********

“Sir, while I’m not sure that you care, Agent Barton is in the vent above this room. I’m uncertain of his purpose as he has not moved in three hours.”

Tony hadn’t realized there was a vent above this room, but now he was positive that his security measures were necessary. “How do you know it’s him?”

“Infra-red vision.” JARVIS had peeked with the helmet, in other words.

“You’re right. Not sure I care.” Tony crossed his arms and considered his next steps. Those security cameras were coming down, sooner the better. He reached back, slugged back the last of a truly terrible cup of coffee, and grimaced. “I don’t have friends, Jay.”

“I would disagree with that, sir.”

“Rhodey doesn’t count. Anyway, he stole my suit.” Tony sighed and rubbed his face. He didn’t need this. He really didn’t. Friends brought nothing but problems, and Barton was a dick. Of course, Tony liked that about him. The coffee hadn’t been unappreciated, either. Barton hadn’t demanded payment, either, not after Tony shut him down.

Tony could admit to being curious why SHIELD had an archer on its payroll. Arrows were useless against bullets, armor, and a number of weapons that he could list off without trying. Ten ideas for making arrows more effective in the field buzzed through his brain, and he forced them away. He wouldn’t do it.

They weren’t friends. Barton was SHIELD. This was probably his assignment. Snuggle up to Tony Stark, steal the tech, and gloat about it in the lounge. Tony stalked over to his suit, stripped off the gauntlet, and put it on his arm. The whine of the servers made him happy, and he aimed with his usual precision.

After a satisfying explosion, a vent cover hit the floor, and two seconds later, so did Barton. It was a controlled fall, Barton landing on his feet. His hair was practically on end, eyes puffy and red, and Tony realized to his horror that he’d interrupted someone grieving.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Barton screeched. “You missed by six inches!”

“I did not!” Tony waved some smoke away. “And if you know what I’m shooting at, why did you ask?”

“You’re an idiot!” Barton limped to him, grabbed him by the arm, and pointed it at the ceiling where a surveillance camera watched. “There!”

Tony fired, not seeing any reason to wait. Barton aimed Tony’s arm three more times and then sat down hard on the floor. “Geez! Warn a guy before you blow him up!”

“What fun is that?” Tony went back to his suit, stripping off the gauntlet with care. He kept his gaze strictly away from Barton, giving him space. They weren’t friends. “You okay?”

The silence was full of anger, and Tony wanted to face palm. He was an idiot. His mouth took his embarrassment as the cue to start babbling. “You dropped a good distance. Why were in a vent? Are you related to Spiderman? Wait. Maybe you are Spiderman. Well, I thought he was younger, but whatever.”

“Hawkeye! Not Spiderman!” Barton sounded a bit put out. Tony stole a glance and saw that Barton was rubbing his knee.

“Your super power is vision? Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes?” Tony needed to shut up, so bad.

“If I could, you’d be dead,” Barton growled. “I was hiding from medical, who is desperate to make me go to physical therapy, when you shot me!”

“Did not.” Tony hoped this all made sense at some point. “Just tell them to forget it. Pepper makes appointments for me, and I don’t go. They get over it.”

Barton eased to his feet and picked up the vent cover. “You’re the boss. I’m not the boss. Of anything.” He shoved a table underneath the hole, fixed the cover, and then slid down to return the table to its spot. “Also, you’re a douchebag.”

“Pepper would agree.” Tony missed her, but he’d earned this little vacation. So far, he’d admit he was having a good time. They’d needed a break, which made no sense but was true. Sometimes he thought she loved him but hated Iron Man. She did seem to like being CEO of Stark Industries, and that was good news because there was no way he was doing it. He was the head of R and D, nothing more, nothing less.

“Oh, and by the way,” Barton said, interrupting Tony’s ramble, “I’ll give them one more minute, and then I’m going to have to report their incompetence.”

Tony opened his mouth to ask what the hell that meant when seven guys in full combat gear pounded through the door, guns pointed at him, Barton, and everything else in the room.

“I think you guys can do better,” Barton said, making a show of checking a non-existent watch.

“Down! Down! Get down! Get your fucking ass on the floor!” The yelling started, and Barton calmly put his hands on his head and knelt.

The helicarrier dropped away from Tony, leaving him with sand, heat, and despair. A small part of him knew that he was being ridiculous, and the other ninety-five percent was having a panic attack of epic proportions. Or was it a flashback, or maybe a--.

“Get the fuck down!”

Frozen, unable to move in any direction, Tony waited to be shot. He heard Arabic voices yelling at him, it was hot, and he was so damn scared.

“Guys! Guys!”

Someone grabbed him, holding him, and he latched on with all his strength. “Yinsen. Thank God. Not again. Not again.”

“You’re okay. Get down with me.”

Following the pull, Tony sat on the floor and leaned into him. “Why do they do this? I can’t work in these conditions.”

“Breathe. Breathe. No one will hurt you. I promise.”

Tony laughed, quiet and sad, shutting his eyes and hoping no one died this time. “I’ll do it. Tell them I’ll do it.”

“They know. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He could smell the stench of unwashed bodies, feel the cave around him, and he curled a little tighter. “I’ll get it done. I will.”

“I know. I know.”

The shouting stopped, and the floor seemed to heave. Time snapped, and Tony clearly heard, “Sir, you are not in Afghanistan. You are on the helicarrier. Agent Barton is with you.”

“Jarvis?” Tony touched his ear, feeling the bud. “Thank god,” he whispered, understanding and appalled at his weakness. He opened his eyes, staring into Barton’s. There just weren’t words.

“Back up!” Barton snapped. “Sitwell, get your damn dogs out of here. There’s no one but us, and we’re not aliens!”

“Shut up, Barton.”

Tony fought his way to his feet, glaring at the guns and hating them all. “Agent Sitwell, I suggest you leave what has been designated as my space on this helicarrier before I rain hellfire down on anything and anyone you hold dear. Do you understand?”

Sitwell drew back. “The monitoring devices stay.”

“No. Out.” Tony pointed at the door. “Right now. You have a problem; you see Director Fury.”

“Oh, but Barton stays? I see how it is.” Sitwell smirked. “Taking a ride on the Shield bike.” He laughed, made a sharp gesture, and they were all gone in three seconds. Tony tried to get his lungs working again, but he didn’t shove Barton’s hands away. Barton muttered something under his breath, gave Tony an awkward pat, and stepped back.

“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. It helps.” Barton stayed close, like he was afraid Tony would fall down. “You need to eat, shower, and sleep this off.”

Arguing with him was Tony’s normal response, but deep down he was shaking. He could smell the stink of his fear on his clothes, and his stomach ached. “Yinsen died,” he blurted.

“I’m sorry.” Barton looked around. “Can you lock the door? I’m pretty sure no one will touch your armor.”

“Yeah.” Tony moved the helmet so JARVIS could monitor the entire space. “Keep an eye on the place, Jay. Let me know if anyone comes close.”

“I will inform you immediately, sir, and thank Agent Barton for helping you through this.”

Tony wasn’t answering that. He was fine. “Just some food and a shower. I don’t need sleep.”

“Whatever.” Barton rolled his eyes. “For a genius, you are hound dog dumb.”

“Well, biscuits and gravy, you do wield a nasty insult. I may swoon.” Tony used the keypad to secure the door, and his knees wobbled.

“I love biscuits and gravy,” Barton mumbled, putting his arm around Tony’s waist and keeping him up. “Moron.”

********


	5. Now

********

Hope and despair made Clint lash out at Hill. “Does Fury know you’re here? In my bedroom? Hoping for a ride on the Shield bike?”

“I know you’re angry. That’s good. That’s the emotion we need you to carry forward with this plan. Our agent's cover in Stark’s organization is blown. We need to keep someone close to him. We fire you. Make it seem like his fault. He hires you for his security detail. You make sure no one kills him. Simple.”

It made such perfect sense, except for one small detail. “Stark will never fall for it. The man is a goddamn genius, literally the smartest human on the planet. His plans have plans. His computer is smarter than everyone on this boat.”

“We know, but his weakness is guilt. He’s going to feel guilty. Use it. Get in good with him. Be there when all hell breaks loose, and it will. He needs help, and you’re no use to Shield moping around here, waiting for Coulson to come back and tell you he’d rather date anyone than a used up circus whore.”

“Fuck. You.” Clint went to his closet and found a duffle bag. He stuffed all his street clothes in it, ignoring the uniforms.

“I’m impressed it only took you three days to seduce Stark. Romanoff says he’s amazing in bed.” Hill was on her feet now, leaning casually against the door to the bedroom. “Fury thought Stark would be loyal to Pepper. I knew better.”

Listening to her talk made Clint want to hit things. He dropped a knife in the bag. “I know this is a shock, but I like Stark. He’s a complete jerk but a great guy.”

“Then do this to save him.”

She would say that, not understanding that betraying his friends wasn’t Clint’s style. He wished more people at SHIELD felt that way. “I’m not good at undercover. We know this. Get Tasha to do it.” Something in the way her posture changed made Clint groan. “Never mind. I can see she’s been there and done that.”

“Romanoff saved a lot of people by being in the right place at the right time. We need you to step up now.” Hill smiled. “And you’ll get the benefit of great sex. We’ll contact you for a report sometime in the next six weeks. Try the Starbucks down the block from Stark’s Tower.”

For some reason, Clint didn’t feel like sharing that Stark was taking a break from the Tower and living in California. Pepper had insisted. Clint zipped his bag after grabbing his wallet. “I quit.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Agent Barton.” She strode out of his apartment, and he took a minute to rub his face.

SHIELD never took ‘no’ for an answer. He would do this assignment whether he liked it or not, or Fury might fire him for real, which led Clint around to the burning question in his mind. _Had Coulson written him off?_ Hill hadn’t pulled her punches on his feelings for Coulson and how ridiculous they were. Carrying a torch for a man who would never regard him as anything but a problem was stupid, and Clint might be a circus whore, but he was far from stupid.

He took a last look around his apartment and decided not to bother. They’d either box it up for storage or throw it out, and he wasn’t sure he cared. He was a man of few possessions, and most people said few morals, as well. One last check of his pockets to make sure he had the odds and ends he liked to carry and he was ready.

Stepping out the door, duffle over his shoulder, he smiled at his security detail and knew two things to the core of his soul. One: he’d be lucky if he were alive when his ride on the quinjet was over. And two: Stark _was_ his friend; because only friends put tracking devices on each other.

********


	6. Four days earlier

********

Clint was very familiar with the exhaustion that could set in after a severe PTSD flashback. And that had been a bad one for Stark. It’d been more than a memory. He’d been inside the experience again. Everyone knew Stark’s Afghanistan story, but no one ever talked about the trauma that went with a violent kidnapping, beatings, and watching a friend die. Coulson himself had given Clint the file to read, and there had been no mention of PTSD.

Stark leaned onto Clint heavily, and Clint took him right to the shower, helping him undress.

“Gonna wash my ass?” Stark drawled.

“Seen better in the mirror.” Clint left him to wash, going to get a power bar and mix a protein drink for him. Stark didn’t have energy for a meal. Clint got him some sweats and a ratty T-shirt, and Stark didn’t even protest putting them on. “I’m going to burn your clothes,” Clint said, nudging the pile with his foot.

“Hurt that shirt, and I’ll send a drone after you,” Stark said, taking the power bar and drink. “Also, food of champions. Thanks.”

“Sit on the bed. That way when you pass out, I don’t have to carry you in here.”

“My virtue should insist on different sleeping arrangements.” Stark shoved his mouth full and gulped the drink, eating like he was starving. The second the food was gone, he stretched out on the bed. “I hate my brain,” he whispered.

Clint took the glass and hated that he understood so well. He sat on the edge near Stark’s feet. “Bad one, huh?”

“I was there. I could smell it.” Stark shuddered. Clint poked at him until he was under the covers, and Stark called him several rude names while he wiggled. “Jarvis, tell Pepper I’m okay. Wake me in an hour.”

Wondering what Pepper thought about Stark in Clint’s bed was a waste of time. “I’ll keep watch. Sleep.”

Snoring commenced fifteen seconds later, and while Clint felt guilty about it, he still got a pair of tweezers and carefully pulled the ear bud out. Stark didn’t even twitch. Clint wiped it on his sleeve and tucked it in his ear as he took the glass to the kitchen.

“Jarvis?”

“Agent Barton, may I assume you have removed the comm device so Mr. Stark can get a full night’s rest?”

“Yup.” Clint made himself a sandwich and stood over the sink to eat it. “You can give Miss Potts my reassurance, too. He’s okay, just tired.”

“I will do so, thank you, and may I suggest that if you want to remain in Mr. Stark’s good graces you will put the ear bud near the pillow as if it had fallen out while he slept. It does happen from time to time.”

Clint couldn’t help but marvel at Stark’s computer. He finished his sandwich, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and went to find his tablet. Propping up a few extra pillows, he made a spot on the bed on top of the covers. Stark still snored, and Clint let the ear bud dribble down Stark’s neck to land near his arm.

When his eyes got heavy, he curled down and slept.

*********


	7. Three days earlier

********

Tony’s mother, Maria, claimed more than once that her baby son had never slept more than four hours a night, just like Einstein. Tony’s father, Howard, complained more than once that his child never slept at all. Tony’s butler and mentor, Jarvis, knew the truth. Tony slept until his brain overflowed with ideas, forcing him awake.

“Jarvis?” Tony scrambled for his ear bud, tucking it inside his ear before realizing where he was – in bed with Barton. “Oh, shit. Did we have sex?”

Barton stretched, not opening his eyes. “Does your ass ache? Because it would, if we had sex.”

Against his will, Tony laughed. “I hate you.”

“But you loved my dick last night.” Barton yawned, bumbled his way out of the bed, and headed for the bathroom. Tony stared after him, not understanding for a second how he’d ended up in bed with Barton.

“Jarvis?”

“You did not engage in intercourse with Agent Barton. He made sure you ate and put you to bed. He was a complete gentleman.” JARVIS paused. “Perhaps we should mark this as a red letter day?”

“Smart ass,” Tony grumbled, getting out of bed and trailing after his host. Barton handed him a new toothbrush, and they avoided each other’s eyes. Tony needed coffee, and Barton seemed to get that because he went off to start the coffee pot. “Jarvis, I’m starting to like him.”

“I’m sure he would discourage those feelings.”

“I know.” Tony wet his hands and slicked them through his hair to calm his bed head. He liked Barton, and it worried him. Friendship was for people without money. Tony had employees, not friends. Rhodey didn’t count and neither did Pepper. Liking someone who shot people with arrows seemed like a bad investment of Tony’s very limited time. It also might be some weird convoluted plan by Fury to get Tony to join the Avengers Initiative. The smell of coffee drove Tony straight to the kitchen. “Are you manipulating me so I’ll beg Fury to let me join the Avengers?”

Barton sat slumped on a bar stool in front of the coffee pot, two mugs near his hands. “You’re ruining my morning zen with all your talky.”

The dribble of coffee made Tony’s mouth water. He yanked a bar stool over and sat down next to him. “Do you know Agent Romanoff?”

“Are you always this awake in the morning?” Barton put his face on his hand, leaning against his elbow. “Can we talk after coffee? Or, maybe, never?”

Tony grabbed the carafe and filled his mug, putting it back fast so it could finish its cycle. Coffee spilled all over the cabinet and the pot hissed from anger at being moved. Barton’s mouth hung open slightly. “People don’t do that!”

“I don’t like to wait.” Tony slurped a big drink, loving the way it burned his taste buds off. The next second was shock as the mug was ripped away and Barton took a huge gulp that should’ve made him scream. Tony tried to grab it back, and they ended up with hot coffee down their fronts. “You are a terrible host!”

“You’re a horrible person!” Barton tore his shirt off and mopped up the coffee. While he was doing that, Tony filled the other mug and sat down to drink it.

“Don’t even think about it,” Tony growled. He immediately received a face full of shirt and the mug was torn away, again. Peeling off the sodden mess, he glared at Barton’s smirk. “You suck.”

“First. Coffee.” Clint poured half into the other mug and handed it to him. “Weren’t you taught to share?”

“No.” Tony buried his face in the coffee and didn’t come up until the last drop was headed for his veins. “So explain to me this arrow thing you have going on? Bullets not good enough for you?”

Clint refilled Tony’s cup and his own. “Why didn’t that hot coffee short out your chest? Do you use it as a night light?”

Tony blinked at him, stunned into the closest he came to mental shutdown. He smiled for no reason. “Arrows are quiet, harder to track. Rig an explosive to it and you’ve got a hell of a weapon. You’re a fine marksman, as well. My guess is there are few people better.”

“That thing in your chest is more of a magnet, not electric, powered by an element you discovered yourself, and yes, sometimes you still sleep with the lights on so you know where you are.”

They eyed each other and then took a drink at the same time. Tony made up his mind that having one friend who wasn’t Rhodey or Pepper might not be terrible. “So why do you work for this half-ass organization?”

“You tell me, and we’ll both know.”

********

There were probably things Clint could have been doing, but instead he trailed after Stark down to the lab. He could’ve stolen the codes for the door when Tony punched them in, but he intentionally turned his back and smiled up at a new video camera. If he happened to stand in the way of the camera trying to record the sequence, it was accidental, of course.

Clint didn’t have friends. He had trainers, co-workers, handlers, and supervisors. There were also analyzers, team facilitators, and support staff. And Natasha didn’t count as a friend. She was more like a sister, family, and he loved her, but it wasn’t like having a buddy. At some point, Clint thought Coulson might be a friend, but it’d been more like professional interest, until it was so much more. He was willing to admit that he’d been stupid, expecting things. Expectations always led to disappointment. He knew that.

They weren’t going to be friends. Stark would figure it out. Stark was smarter than any person should be. And Coulson could go to hell. He’d have good company with all the other people who had used Clint and thrown him away like yesterday’s trash.

All this gloomy thinking made Clint hungry, and he pushed away from the wall where he’d been sulking. If Stark had noticed, he hadn’t commented, just throwing himself at the tech like he’d missed them.

“If you’re getting food, get me some?” Stark asked.

“Say the magic word,” Clint teased.

“What?”

“Close enough.” Clint rolled his eyes and waited until he was out the door before laughing. He got a pile of food and sat down to eat it in a corner where no one was behind him. No one came to sit with him, but a couple of guys flipped him off so everything was fine. When he was done, he loaded a bag with finger foods, grabbed an energy drink, and headed back to the lab.

Stark gave him a hand wave. “Put it on the table, will ya?”

Clint considered launching it at Stark’s face. Instead, he sighed, put it on the table, and watched in confusion as Stark pounced on it.

“I have a peeve,” Stark said.

“You are a peeve.” Clint didn’t want to know what creepy issues Stark had about bags of food.

Cheeks full, Stark muttered, “I was about ready to send out a search party.”

“You’re pampered enough without me hurrying.” Clint hopped up on the table and picked up the helmet. “Hi, Jarvis.”

“Hello, Agent Barton. Thank you for acquiring victuals for young master’s repast.”

“Jarvis, Barton is from Iowa. It’s vittles there.”

Clint watched as they launched into a full-on bicker about language in the Midwest and whether or not anyone knew what a ‘repast’ was. Coulson knew; Clint was sure of that. Personally, he thought JARVIS won the argument with ease, but Stark was an expert at lacing facts with threats, and that was a trait Clint admired.

“Has he ever turned you into an appliance, Jarvis?” Clint needed to know.

“Not as yet. I wouldn’t fit, as such. I have far too many servers.”

“Ass too big, huh?” Clint laughed as Stark sputtered. “If I had a sassy computer, I’d figure out a way to make him the moderate the forums at the Huffpo.”

Stark whipped around, eyes bright, and Clint swore he heard JARVIS gulp. “Sir, I am the soul of politeness.”

“Right,” Stark drawled. “Barton, for a douchebag, you’re a good guy.”

“Back at you.” Clint made some coffee while Stark ate and tinkered. After two more cups, he felt more alive. “I’m headed to the range, not that you care.”

“Really don’t.”

********


	8. Now

********

They weren’t stupid. They waited until the hatch closed. Clint didn’t remember why these guys hated him, but it was mutual. Fury thought he was so damn smart with his plan. If he’d known about the beating headed Clint’s way, he might’ve… hell, he’d probably planned that, too. It’d get Clint more sympathy from Stark.

Clint went down fighting, but that was cold comfort. When the quinjet landed, they tossed him down the ramp to land in a pile of pain and blood. His duffle bag landed on top of him.

“Sitwell wanted him dead.”

“Then he should’ve come along for the ride. I’m not killing Hawkeye. You gonna risk Black Widow finding out?”

Whatever they said next, Clint didn’t hear. The ramp went up, and the quinjet took off in a swirl of dust. Clint rolled to his back and tried to breathe shallow. He’d thought they’d throw him in a dumpster in New York City. Instead, he was pretty sure he was in a ditch, and those were stalks of corn waving over his head. This looked bad.

*******


	9. Two days earlier

********

“Are you kidding me? Shield will cut through that little number pad in three seconds!” Clint laughed. “Just give them a set of armor. Please. Save yourself the heartbreak.”

“No way.”

“Okay, you think I’m an idiot, right?” Clint grinned, baiting the hook. “You set that, and then watch as I steal your armor.”

“You’re an idiot, and let’s make it interesting.” Stark grinned right back at him. “Ten bucks?”

“Cheapskate,” Clint muttered, nodding. “I’ll turn my back. Jarvis, keep me honest.”

“I will endeavor to do so.”

Stark laughed in a disgusting smug way. Clint took a deep breath, held it, and focused tightly. He wasn’t as good at this as Natasha, but then no one was.

“I’m ready. You get ready to pay me.” Stark smirked.

Clint ignored him, moving to stand in front of the keypad. He rested his fingers on the middle row, and he counted them as he tapped out each number. When the light turned green, he raised his arms in victory. “Time?”

“Three point four seconds,” JARVIS said.

“What the absolute hell?” Stark looked furious, all smugness wiped away.

“Easy peasy, and I’m not even the best at it. Pay up.” Clint held out his hand.

“I don’t carry cash.” Stark rolled his eyes. “Jarvis, put ten dollars in Clint’s bank account.”

“Of course, sir, and I may add a bit to reward him for giving you your comeuppance.”

“I hate you both.” Stark put his hands on his hips. “So, super spy, what should I do?”

“I have no idea.” Clint didn’t have a clue. “But I do know the hardest places to break into are the ones without a keypad at all. Took me an hour to break into a garage one time.” He wandered to his favorite spot and sat down.

“I need an extra day, Jarvis.”

“Miss Potts will not be pleased.”

“Tell her protecting the intellectual property of Stark Industries is my priority right now.” Stark actually growled out the words.

Irritating Stark was fun, but Clint liked him enough to say. “Blow up a few things. You’ll feel better.”

A blink, and Stark nodded. “You’re right. Where’s this range you were talking about?”

Surprised, Clint laughed. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

********

“Remind me to build one of these in the tower, Jay,” Tony said, opening his helmet and grinning at Clint. “Any more arrows I can incinerate?”

“Pretty sure that’s all of them,” Clint said with a sad face. “I did hit your helmet that one time.”

“Jarvis thought it was an excellent shot. I called it luck.”

“Now you’re just pissing me off.” Clint stowed his compound bow in a case and put it away. “Not the best bow, anyhow.”

“I thought you might have some trick arrows: nets, sticky stuff, traps. That sort of thing.”

“If only I had a genius who would invent them for me. The R and D department here has bigger fish to fry, or so they say. The explosives work pretty good, and the grappling arrow comes in handy.” Clint sighed. “One of these days, they’ll finish my new quiver. Since Coulson--.” He stopped. “Never mind. Just me whining.”

“Agent Coulson was a pain in my ass, almost literally. Man threatened to tazer me. Pepper likes him.” Tony was often accused of being self-centered , narcissistic, whatever, but he knew something was up. “You worked with him?”

“Under him.” Barton shrugged, not seeming to realize how hilarious that sounded. “He’s been reassigned off the helicarrier.”

“So Coulson gets a new gig, and now no one on this boat wants to make your tech?” Tony didn’t allow that kind of behavior in his department. “What did you do to piss everyone off?”

Barton slammed the locker and stalked for the door. Tony clanked after him. “Probably your charming personality.” Random conversations flitted through Tony’s mind. “Hawkeye, wait.”

Barton whipped around, mad as hell all over his face. “It’s always my fault.”

It clicked, and Tony nodded. “Of course it is. You’re mouthy, belligerent, and don’t mind telling people when they’re stupid. You had sex indiscriminately, and now the people you pissed off call you ‘slut’ behind your back.” He saw Barton clench his jaw. “And to your face. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times you save their asses. They still act all high and mighty.”

“I hate geniuses,” Barton growled, moving faster now, and when Tony rounded a corner, Barton was gone. Tony didn’t go looking for him, heading back to his lab. He had an idea, and in a few more hours, he’d be done here.

********


	10. Now

********

Knowing that he needed to get up and moving was a long way from actually doing it. One of those bastards had kicked him in the legs about a hundred times. He had Charley horses on top of Charley horses, and his sore knee felt as big as a pumpkin. The sun was high in the sky, and it was warm enough, so curling around his duffle bag seemed like a great idea. He’d walk later.

“Holy shit! It’s a dude alien!”

“I think he’s dead.”

The fact that Clint hadn’t even heard the pickup worried him. Of course, his head was ringing, so there was that.

“The spaceship dropped him off! We’re gonna be famous!”

Pushing hard with his hands, Clint sat up and focused the one eye that worked on them. “Not an alien. That was a military jet, and I’m not dead.”

“Looked like a spaceship to me!”

“This is why I didn’t join the military. I heard they beat the shit out of you.”

Dealing with teenagers always made Clint’s brain hurt. One more hurt piled on the others. He registered that they were both scrawny, not exactly threats, and one of them was smarter than the other. “Can I get a ride to town?”

They looked at each other. “Can you pretend to be an alien so we can take selfies?”

“Sure.” Clint thought that was entirely stupid, but it did remind him that he needed a new phone. He’d left his SHIELD-issued one back on the helicarrier. They grinned, helped him stand, and there was a round of pictures which they let him see. “Wow, I look as bad as I feel.”

“The blood really makes it perf!”

“A filter and a crop, and I think we can sell it. We are going to be famous on Snapchat!”

“You still use that? God, get an Instagram account. I’m embarrassed to hang with you.”

Clint listened to them argue for one second before throwing his duffle bag and crawling in to sit with his back to the cab. Wherever they went, it’d be better than a corn field.

********


	11. One day earlier

*********

Sick of physical therapy and all the flack he was getting for letting Stark blast holes in the range, Clint went the back way – the vents – down to Stark’s lab. When he got there, he rolled his eyes, popped the cover off, and dropped to the table he might’ve put under it earlier. He replaced the cover and then hopped down, padding over to where Stark was sleeping on the floor.

“Why are smart people so dumb?” Clint asked the universe, dragging him up and starting for his quarters. Stark bumbled along with him, bitching about sleep being the enemy and people stealing his tech. Finally, Clint got him through the bedroom door, helped him out of his pants and shoes, and stuffed him under the covers. It was the second time that someone had slept in his bed without fucking him first.

It was nine o’clock in the morning, and Clint ached from physical therapy, but he wasn’t going back to bed. He also didn’t like the idea of leaving Stark alone so he went to take a shower. Feeling better, he tugged on some shorts and found his tablet. He snagged a bottle of water and camped out on the bed.

Hours later, he heard a mumbled voice ask. “Why are you nice to me?”

Clint roused from his doze, trying to decide how to answer. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.” Stark stretched, sitting up to scrub at his eyes. “Tell me why, or what you want.”

It would’ve been easy to tell him to fuck off, or laugh, or demand a check. Clint rubbed his face, deciding on some truth. It wouldn’t kill him, but it took a couple of long minutes to find the words. It was a shock that Stark waited that long. Clint shrugged. “When you were eighteen, I was eight.”

Stark sat up straight, darting a narrowed eyed glance at him. “Not my best year.”

“Mine either. I saw you in the paper. And somehow, I thought maybe we were in this orphan club together. Stupid, I know.” Clint didn’t look at him, wrapping his arms around his bare legs. “So, I heard you were on the helicarrier, and I was curious if you were the dickhead everyone said.”

“Like they say you are.” Stark’s voice was sharp. “You wondered if it shaped us, made us somehow less.”

“Or more.” Clint hesitated, and then blurted it out, “There are twenty-seven people in Shield, all in the upper ranks, who lost their parents at a young age. It’s stupid, but…”

There was a blur of activity as Stark headed to the bathroom. Clint heard a knock on the door and went to get it. It was the food he’d ordered hours before, knowing they’d be hungry at some point. He yanked open the door and waved the guy to the table because grabbing the trays was rude, or so Coulson said.

Coulson was always talking in Clint’s head, and Clint wondered what Coulson would say about Stark in the bathroom. That was the moment Stark wandered into the living room. “Where are my pants?”

“Just borrow another pair of mine.” Clint rolled his eyes. He tracked the fellow back to the door and then noticed the smirk. By Clint’s estimate, the news he’d been fucked by Tony Stark would be all over the helicarrier in about three minutes, maybe two. “Get out,” he growled and slammed the door. “I got food,” he yelled.

“Good.” Stark strolled out, dressed in Clint’s clothes, again. “I’m going to need my T-shirt.”

“Housekeeping picked it up. It’ll be back next Wednesday.” Clint plunked down in front of a tray and started eating. Two seconds later, Stark joined him. Neither of them said anything until all the food was gone. Clint even ate his salad, just to avoid talking.

“Come back to the lab with me. See if you can steal it now.” Stark wiped his mouth and got to his feet. “Find clothes first.”

“Fine.” Clint didn’t look up at him.

Stark stood by the table for five agonizing seconds, and then he was gone. Clint took a huge breath and sagged in his chair. His big mouth was always causing problems. Coulson reminded him daily to think before he said anything and then don’t say a word. It was good advice. Too bad Clint never took it.

Clint cleaned up the table and set the trays outside the door. Usually, he returned them but today he didn’t feel up to the smirking and laughter. He knew he should stay away from the lab. Stark had figured it out, finally. Clint wasn’t worth the time. Wasn’t worth any sort of friendship. He dressed in SHIELD black, knowing it made him look good.

Going to the lab was stupid. He wasn’t going to do it. Except that he did.

********

“Don’t argue, Jarvis. Start an investigation, and I don’t care how long it takes.” Tony sat on the table, satisfied with the work he’d done. The suit would be safe. No one was getting through the case, except with a bomb, and if they did that, JARVIS would blow the suit as well.

Barton would show up. He wouldn’t be able to resist a challenge. Tony didn’t like to think that he was a curiosity: that Barton had wanted to meet him for years: that they shared a connection of dead parents and a bad attitude.

Even if it were true. Or kinda true. Tony didn’t need a friend. Neither did Barton. They’d make terrible friends, likely to punch each other in the face for an insult. Tony grinned. They were also liable to do it for fun. He felt a little bad about destroying all those arrows, now that he knew Barton would have to wait forever for new ones.

“Sir, Miss Potts would like an update.”

“Tell her I’m done. She’s in New York?” Tony remembered something vaguely.

“She is flying to California today.”

“Good.” Tony wanted to see her, even if it meant doing paperwork. “Think I’ll ever see Barton again, Jay?”

“Difficult to analyze, sir. Do you wish to see him again?”

Tony wasn’t sure, but as he thought about it, he nodded. “I would. He’s one of the good guys. I wonder if Fury wants him in the boy band.”

“Unknown but likely. Barton is an exceptional agent with skills far behind marksmanship. He is a legend among hired assassins.”

“Is that hero worship I hear?” Tony laughed. “Have you been on the dark web, again?”

“I simply read his file.” JARVIS hesitated. “Shield has yet to detect me in their database.”

“Keep it that way.” Tony grinned when Barton came strutting in the lab. He pointed at his suit, behind its enclosure. Barton glared, puffed up his chest, and went to work, trying to get to it. Tony watched, never losing his smirk.

Barton started cursing and gave it a kick. “I’m getting some explosives.”

“Don’t make Jarvis angry.” Tony slid off the table and marched over to him. “You didn’t take it easy on me, did you?”

“Shut up.” Barton sighed. “I’ll admit. You’re smart.”

“Of course I am.” Tony pulled a tiny remote from his pocket and pressed the button. The case opened without a hitch. “Your idea. Garage door.”

“Better hope Shield doesn’t detect the radio frequency.” Barton went to the suit and poked it with his finger. “So, how do you get in it? Can opener?”

Tony was willing to give him a demonstration of the small builder bots, but his moment was ruined by Nick Fury striding through the door. Barton curled his shoulders, losing half of his bravado, and Tony didn’t like it.

“In here, again?” Fury sounded pissed.

“Jarvis, where are those trackers I brought?” Tony whispered, barely above a sub-vocalization. He probably shouldn’t, but he’d feel better knowing where Barton was for a few days.

“In the toolbox drawer. I recommend you try for his side pocket.”

He eased over, not listening to Barton make up some lies. Scoring on the first try, he strode over to them, moving right behind Barton’s shoulder.

“Hey, he was down here to keep an eye on me. Making sure I didn’t blow the place up.” Tony made his move, flicking the tiny bot in Barton’s pocket. “Don’t be stupid, Fury.”

Fury turned on him like a snake, and Tony knew it was time to go because he wasn’t listening to this bullshit. Barton must’ve felt the same. He stormed out the lab after firing back at Fury. Tony started throwing his tools in his toolbox.

“You fucked up, Fury.”

“No, you did, and I lost a good agent.” Fury left in a swirl of leather, and it didn’t take Tony long to get his crate re-loaded. From there, he put on his armor and started carrying it to the nearest exit. It was a tight fit in a few spots, but soon enough he was flying towards California. It’d be good to be home.

“Keep an eye on Barton, Jarvis. I don’t trust Fury.”

“He doesn’t seem appreciative of Agent Barton’s services.”

“Barton’s not an agent any longer.” Tony gave in to the guilt creeping over him. “I should’ve been more careful. Bad things happen to people I like.”

JARVIS didn’t reply, and Tony flew a little faster. He’d find an excuse to meet up with Barton in a few days, make sure he was okay. Maybe ask Pepper if they needed a new security guy to work with Happy. Tony didn’t have friends. It was fine.

“We could inquire with Miss Romanoff concerning Mr. Barton’s situation?”

“She’d lie and beat me up.” Tony remembered the ease at which Barton had sidestepped the question of Romanoff. “While I’m flying, put up Barton’s file. I’m bored.”

“Of course, sir.”

********


	12. Now

********

“Here okay?”

Clint opened his eye and tried to take a good look around, but he’d seen a thousand little towns just like this one, and it was time to get out of the truck. The ride had been long enough that he could get his feet under him. He waved as they drove off, dropping his duffle bag on the sidewalk. He’d seen a lot of one horse towns in his life, but this place probably couldn’t afford a horse.

If he tried, he could throw a rock from one end to the other. What he needed was a motel, but what he was getting was a gas station. He groaned and went inside to clean up in the restroom. The lady behind the counter gasped, grabbing up her phone, and he stepped a little faster, locking the door.

The mirror didn’t lie, and he looked like shit. Disgusted, he stripped off his filthy clothes, using wet paper towels to get most of the blood and dirt off his face. The dirt was from the ditch he’d been tossed in, and the blood was from his nose. He prodded it, giving it a pull to straighten it, but it wasn’t broken, just sore, like the rest of him. His eye was black, but he could see out of it, mostly, so that was a win. His ribs weren’t busted, just achy, and his knee would heal, again. All in all, could’ve been worse.

Feeling less gross, he found clean clothes and considered the problem of the tracker in his pocket. He pulled it out, threw the uniform in the trash, and couldn’t help but marvel at its genius. It was tiny, hard to tell it was even there, no weight in his hand. If he flushed it, he could disappear. Maybe.

It was curiosity that got him again. He wanted to know what Stark’s next move would be, so he carefully put it in his jean pocket. After shrugging into a T-shirt, he found some socks, only one hole, and grabbed up a boot. They were military issue, and he stopped before he slid his foot inside. Anyone who saw them would know what he was. He tossed them in the trash and dug out his Converse. Finished, he looked in the mirror and saw Clint Barton, not Hawkeye, and not Agent Barton. It was probably a bad idea.

One more time, he washed his hands and face. He zipped up his duffle and sidled out the door, heading for the cooler to get a pop. The lady still had big eyes, but he smiled now, trying for charming.

And the sheriff walked through the door, heading right for him. He stopped, trying to look harmless.

“You got family here, boy?” The sheriff was tall, skinny but not scrawny, adjusting his hat and squaring his shoulders. He expected trouble.

Clint rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled his feet, knowing he looked confused because he’d practiced it with Tasha. “Well, no, sir. Because...” He swallowed hard and made his eyes big. “I’m traveling, trying to get home. Got beat up, dumped in a ditch.”

“Marie said you was dressed in all black.” If possible, the sheriff looked sterner.

“Ruined my clothes. I tossed them.” Clint sighed. “I’m lucky they didn’t find my wallet.”

The sheriff seemed to be thinking it all over. He nodded. “You have some I.D.?”

“Sure. Sure.” Clint dug his wallet out of his duffle bag and handed him a military I.D.

“You were in the Army?”

“Did eight. Got out and trying to get home.” Clint played his best card. “I was a sniper.”

The sheriff’s attitude changed completely. He practically took a vow that Clint would be home by Christmas, or something like that. Clint played it cool, accepting a ride to the nearest clinic to get checked. He planned to duck out a door as soon as the sheriff drove off, but it must’ve been a slow day because he got an escort to the nurse’s desk.

He took the paperwork and went to sit down, wishing for a few ice packs. The sheriff stayed to flirt with the nurse, and Clint considered all the facts. He didn’t want to ping SHIELD’s radar by receiving care under his real name. There wasn’t anything the clinic could do for him. He hurt, but no stitches were needed and nothing was broken. He’d received a classic SHIELD beat down, pain but no lasting harm.

He sorta hated those guys. Sighing, he pretended to fill it out, slowly. His luck changed when the sheriff got a call and hurried out the door. Clint waited until the nurse was distracted, and then he eased away, taking the newspaper with him.

Finding out where the hell he was seemed important.

********


	13. Now, but in California

********

Taking the smoothie from Dummy, Tony eyed the stack of both actual paperwork and tablets that littered his desk. The desk in his shop. The desk no one was supposed to touch. Either he had a new assistant who hadn’t read the handbook, or Pepper was tormenting him in a way that wasn’t acceptable.

“Jarvis? Explain this.” He stabbed his finger at the horrible sight.

“All this items were placed here by Miss Potts, sir.” JARVIS sounded smug. “I believe she is irritated with you.”

“Open a line,” Tony ground out. “Audio only.”

“Tony, I don’t have time for--.”

“I am striking the flint to light my torch as you speak.” Tony paused. “Wait, I’ll get a gauntlet. Less chance I’ll burn the desk. Hang on.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Some things are sacred, Pepper! My desk is sacred!” Tony sat down in his chair and leaned back, enjoying the conversation. “You defiled my manly shrine to engineering!”

“It had nothing on it but a broken cup and a dirty rag!”

“Shrine.” Tony patted Dummy on the claw. “Did you miss me?”

“No!”

“Then why pile things on my sacred space? Were you pining? Wishing for my brilliance?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m hurt, Pep. I thought of you constantly.” Tony didn’t move an inch even though he spotted her approach. She had on a pencil skirt, white blouse, and four-inch heels. “I ached. For you.”

“You’re gonna ache.” She stomped over, and Tony spun his chair.

“Hi, Pep.”

“Hi, Tony.” She glared down at him. “Work. Now.”

Tony leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. “Jarvis let me down. He was supposed to cover my shift. So, let me think. No.”

“We have a company to run, and you’re going to help.” Pepper slid up on the desk and crossed her legs. “Welcome home.”

“Miss me?” Tony very obviously looked her up and down. “A lot?”

“Not so much.” She smirked, swinging her leg enough to bump his chair. “Did you have fun?”

“Drank coffee, built some stuff, blew up some other stuff. A good two days.” Tony licked his lower lip to tease her.

“You were gone five days.”

“Not possible. I slept twice.” Tony might’ve flushed at remembering exactly whose bed he’d slept in, but he was innocent of any wrongdoing.

“You look guilty. Who did you sleep with?” Pepper narrowed her eyes, on her way to furious. “Twice.” Her voice dipped into the dangerous zone.

“Let me explain.” Tony saw instantly he’d chosen the wrong words, and he swallowed hard.

“Just tell me her name so I can send your customary fruit basket,” she snapped, getting to her feet and moving away from him. He opened his mouth to explain, words failing him. They did that occasionally, and she turned to leave.

“Miss Potts, Sir did not engage in sexual intercourse while on the helicarrier. Agent Barton was considerate enough to help when Sir wasn’t assigned his own quarters.” JARVIS paused. “Agent Barton was thoughtful and kind, and I didn’t understand the slurs used against him.”

“Oh, you understood them. They just didn’t make sense.” Tony jumped to his feet and spread his hands. “See! I was good! I slept!” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t even want to fuck him!”

“Okay, you went a sentence too far.” Pepper sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “But you liked him. I can tell because you haven’t tossed out a single insult.”

Tony flopped back in his chair and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. “At first, I thought Fury sent him to keep an eye on me. Then I realized the guy, Hawkeye, had an agenda. I just waited to hear what it was. No one likes me, unless there’s a pay day involved. Turned out, his parents died in a car crash the same year mine did. He was eight. I don’t know, Pep. Fury fired him right in front of me, basically called him a slut and threw him out. But Hawkeye a.k.a Clint Barton is usually partnered with Natasha Romanoff, so who knows what’s true.”

Pepper sat down again on the edge of the desk. She sighed. “People do sometimes like you.” She glared at him. “Shut up. Now, he’s probably a plant. Fury set it up. He knows your weak spot.”

“I don’t have a weak spot. Iron Man? Made of iron?” Tony eased to his feet and stood at her knee, leaning a little, hoping for something. He was never sure what.

“Guilt.” Pepper tugged him close and kissed him. “What happened to him?”

Tony shrugged. “Fury put him on a quinjet and shipped him out.” He put his forehead on her strong shoulder. “I wouldn’t, Pep. I swear.”

“Not on purpose. I know.” She kissed him on the temple. “But you know you might.”

He couldn’t even answer that. He was afraid she was right, and she knew him better than he knew himself. “Barton is messed up over Agent Coulson.”

She drew a quick breath. “Not possible. He’s involved with a young lady in New York. They’re happy.”

Nodding, Tony insinuated himself a little more into her arms. “It was weird. Maybe it was one-sided. I blew up his arrows.”

Pepper giggled, holding him close. “Of course you did.”

They kissed for several minutes, and Tony was more than ready to head to a flat surface. She nudged him back. “Are you going to find Hawkeye?”

“I don’t know. I hate being a patsy for Fury, again.” Tony crossed his arms. “I liked him. That never happens.”

She shook her head. “You were bound to meet another fool like myself and Rhodey someday. Are you sure he wasn’t playing the same game Natalie did?”

“Natasha. And I don’t know. If he was, he was better than her, and that doesn’t seem possible.” Tony shrugged. “Whatever. I’m home. Worship me.”

“Get your paperwork done, and we’ll discuss how else you can please me.” She arched her eyebrows at him and pushed a tablet at his chest. “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“It will, Miss Potts.” Tony slumped down into his chair, shoved his hard dick to the side in his pants, and vowed to hire an assistant. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” She put body language to good use, teasing him with her strut out the door. He leaned over to rest his head on a folder. “Jarvis, I need help.”

“You could use a port to connect me to the tablets while you work on the folders.” JARVIS was the best. “In my opinion, sir, Agent Barton was genuinely distressed when Director Fury terminated him.”

“I agree. Let’s test it.” Tony went hunting for some cables to plug JARVIS into all those tablets. “Call Fury.”

There was a long pause, and Tony had two tablets plugged into JARVIS before there was a click. “I said I’d call you,” Fury growled.

“I figured out your little game.” Tony paused for effect. “It was good, but I’m wise to your evil ways. Wherever you stashed Barton, tell him he’s a good actor and call it a day.”

Now the pause was even longer. Tony frowned. “Jarvis, are you picking up any background chatter?”

“Director Fury is speaking with a woman, but I can’t make out the words.”

“Jarvis, you know ‘can’t’ is a dirty word.”

“My apologies.”

“Stark, are you telling me that Barton’s not with you?”

“Of course not.” Tony laughed. “You sent him off in a quinjet. I came home.”

“To New York.”

“California is lovely this time of year. Seriously, Nick, you are falling down on the job. Maybe you should look for a new line of work.”

“Sir, Director Fury severed the connection. Shall I call him back?”

“Nah.” Tony plugged in another tablet. “We have our answer. Barton is damn good.” He should’ve known it. No one ever liked him. “He was another spy.”

“Sir, Director Fury seemed genuinely confused. I am tracking Agent Barton’s location to--.”

“Mute.” Tony didn’t want to know. It didn’t matter. He’d add Barton to the list of people he used to know. He went back to the folders and tried to focus on that. If he wanted to get laid, he had to get some work done.

********


	14. Now, back in the boonies

********

Disappearing in the United States was tougher than ever. Satellites, computers, drones, and constant video surveillance made it damn hard, but by good luck or hard fortune, Clint didn’t know which, he was in Bumfuck, Oklahoma. He slid down the wall to the side of the dumpster behind the clinic and tried to contain his laughter.

First, he hoped the security guys in the quinjet remembered to wipe the flight plan, or they were so fired. Secondly, he hoped Fury found out he’d lost his Hawkeye and was furious. And lastly, he hoped Fury told Coulson, and he worried, just a little. He probably wouldn’t, too busy with his girlfriend.

Clint crumpled the newspaper and put his palms over his eyes, ignoring the ache. He could go to California, play up the homeless angle, and worm his way into Stark’s good graces. It’d be easy. Or, he could slink off to New York and stalk Coulson. Find out exactly what was going on with him and get some answers.

His last option was crawling back to Fury, telling the truth and going back to half-ass missions and his firing range. What was left of it after Stark had destroyed it. That made Clint grin.

“Hey, you okay?”

Flinching back, Clint raised a defensive hand.

“I’m not going to hit you.”

“Good, because I have a few inches of skin without bruises, and I’d like to keep it that way.” Clint pulled himself to his feet, assessing the threat. “Did you need this spot? I can go sit over there.” He made a vague notion at the corner.

“I work here.” The guy was tall, brown skin, and long black hair pulled back. He didn’t smile, or even look like he was thinking about it. “I can get a nurse.”

“Oh, hell no.” Clint shook his head. “I’m fine. I, just, find myself at the crossroads.”

“In this shitty town?” The guy grimaced. “Your life sucks.”

“Don’t I know it.” Clint held out his hand. “Clint Barton.”

“Roger Roemer, but people call me ‘Buck.’” He shrugged, and they shook hands. “Not sure why.” He picked up a trash bag at his feet and tossed it in the dumpster. “Well, I don’t care if you have your ‘come to Jesus’ moment back here, but the night watchman is a dick. Confederate flag belt buckle wrapped around two hundred pounds of hatred. If you see him, scoot on out of this alley.”

“Thanks.” Clint leaned against the wall so he was in the shade. It wasn’t even noon, and it had to be a hundred.

Tugging in his pocket, Buck pulled out a pack of smokes and got one going. He took a deep drag. “You gonna hitch or take the bus?”

“Hitch,” Clint said without a pause. “The only question is which way: east or west?”

“How about north?” Buck asked. “Not so damn hot up there.”

That hadn’t been one of the options Clint had considered. One thing he did know: SHIELD could have a hundred guys in this immediate vicinity if they decided to find him. If he wanted to stay gone, he needed to get moving.

“Someone after you? You looked freaked out there for a second.”

“Not someone.” Clint pushed away from the wall. “Which way is the highway?”

Buck hooked his thumb, and Clint waved goodbye, walking casually, like he knew where he was going but keeping a lookout for the sheriff. He stopped to buy a couple of pops from a machine, stuffing them in his duffle. Money wasn’t a problem. He had cash, for now.

The highway wasn’t much of one, and it was going north. Clint wiped the sweat from his forehead and quit arguing with himself. He was going somewhere. He’d figure it out along the way.

********


	15. Two months later

********

Sliding into the back of the limo, Tony went right for the mini-bar, and he relaxed back with a scotch on the rocks. He usually liked it neat, but it was hot out.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.”

“Holy shit.” Tony nearly dropped his drink and went immediately for the door handle. It didn’t budge. He forced his panic down, drained his scotch, and considered if the glass was a weapon. “Jarvis, go to red alert.”

“Jarvis isn’t around right now, and your phone won’t work, so don’t bother.” Natasha flashed him a smile that was pure danger. She wrestled the limo out into traffic without any problems. “Don’t worry about Happy. He’s just napping.”

“Right. Right.” Tony made a mental note to put a panic button in all his cars. Maybe he’d put it on a watch. “How are you, Natasha? Steal anyone’s organs lately?”

“We have a problem, Mr. Stark.”

“Shit, I am dead.” Tony thought he was allowed a small panic attack. “Just, make it quick. Don’t drag it out.”

The window between them rolled up, and Tony poured himself another drink. He forced himself to sip it, waiting for her to do something awful. For now, all she did was drive, but he knew she was taking him some place private, secluded, where she could get her answers. He fervently hoped he knew them. Lies were so much easier if they were based in truth. Time stretched, and he was relieved when the limo came to a stop. He was shocked to see they were in front of his house.

His door opened, and he got out. He wasn’t going to run. He wasn’t.

“Don’t bother.” She slammed the door and somehow managed to corner him without a corner. “I have a friend.”

“Congratulations. Honestly, I’m shocked. I thought you only had victims.” Tony stuck his hand in his pocket to fiddle with his phone. Unless she had the jammer on her person, it should work now.

“Everyone needs one. You have one. I have one.” She removed his sunglasses with a quick swipe and tucked them in his coat pocket. “I don’t want to break them. They’re expensive.”

The implicit threat cleared away the fear. He’d faced down terrorists. He could handle one assassin who could kill him with her pinkie. “Thank you. Are we done? It’s hot out here, and I’d hate for you to get heat stroke.”

“In a minute.” She smiled, and he knew the prep work to make him talk was over. “Clint Barton.”

“Don’t know him.” Tony smiled, checking his watch and wiping his brow. “Should I?”

“You were the last person to see him walking and talking, according to my sources.” She slid closer, trailing a finger down his chest.

Tony started for the house, wanting to know what she’d do to keep him there. “Your sources are wrong, or lying.” He reached for the handle of the door. “Can you call a cab? I’m going to need my limo.”

“Stark, he’s important to me.”

“I don’t believe a word out of your mouth.” Tony opened the door. “Jarvis, call the police.”

“She is wearing a jammer that prevents me from doing so.”

Crossing to the sofa under the window, Tony sprawled, loosening his tie. “Deploy Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum.”

The ceiling opened, and two drones dropped out. She destroyed them without breaking a sweat. “I’m about to lose my temper.”

“Hate for that to happen.” Tony grinned. “Clint and I slept together twice on the helicarrier. Fury fake-fired him and had him taken off the helicarrier in a quinjet. I haven’t seen him since.”

She started cursing in languages Tony only had passing familiarities with, but the intent was obvious. “Jarvis, play the video from the scene in my lab on the helicarrier. Put it on the television, please.”

They both watched with varying degrees of interest. Tony faked a yawn and a stretch. “It was all a game to get me to hire him, like I did you. Fury has him somewhere. Go pester him for answers and get out of my living room.”

“If you slept with him, what’s on his right shoulder?” Natasha perched on the edge of the sofa, looking angry.

He laughed, having no trouble with that. “Nothing. His left has a scar that might be a bullet. I’m not an expert in that sort of thing.” He wasn’t sure why he was messing with her, but it was fun. “A slice on his right thigh looked like a knife. Are we through? I have shit to do.”

“Does Pepper know?”

“Get out.” Tony shot to his feet. “Jarvis, I want the big gun.”

The floor split open, and he swung the machine gun to face her. She rolled her eyes. “Overkill, as usual. Did you see which quinjet he boarded?”

“Miss Romanoff, the number was 104. They headed north off the helicarrier. We went west.”

“Jarvis, shut up.” Tony wanted to shoot things, since he was here. “Should I count to ten?”

“North?” Natasha frowned. “Someone’s lying to me, and you better hope it’s not you, Stark.”

For some reason, her words set off a firestorm in Tony’s belly. “He lied to me! I tried to be his friend! He was a better actor than you! And he played me for a fool. I fell for it hard, and I should’ve known better.”

Her eyes widened. “He’s a sniper, not a spy. When he lies, he twitches. Fury played you both, and that leaves me with one problem. Where the hell is Clint Barton?”

“Sir, I--.”

“Mute.” Tony wasn’t allowing that. Wherever Barton was, it was his own business. Tony pulled the trigger on a warning shot that blew off the front door. “You’re fired, Miss Romanoff.”

She had the nerve to laugh as she strolled out the remains of the door. “If he’s your friend, you’ll find him before the CIA does, or Interpol, or Mossad.” She ticked them off on her fingers before leaving with a small wave. A few minutes later, he heard the limo leave.

“Jarvis, retract the gun.” Tony put her out of his mind. “Call the police, report an intruder, and notify the insurance company. And make sure Happy is alive.”

“Done. I have little faith the police will catch her.”

Tony laughed. “Not likely.” He tossed his jacket and padded downstairs. Believing her was hard, but if she was telling the truth and Fury had played them both, well, then, there were questions left to be answered.

Barton hadn’t followed Tony home, or asked for a job, or even looked at him. If Barton had intended on running the scam, he would’ve done something, not vanished. Unless… Tony ran through a few scenarios and didn’t like any of them. It was barely possible that Barton had felt a shred of loyalty to Tony and had decided to run off instead of going through with Fury’s stupid plan.

“Jarvis, dig into all the wrong places and find out who’s after Barton.” Tony got himself a cup of coffee and cocked his hip on his desk. “And call Agent Coulson.”

One folder and half a cup of coffee later, JARVIS opened a connection.

“How can I help you, Mr. Stark?” Agent sounded calm, at ease.

“I’m sorry to bother you.” Tony used his slightly-bored CEO voice. “An employee of mine has gone missing, and I was hoping you’d seen him.”

“I don’t think--.”

“Clint Barton,” Tony interrupted, keeping his tone mild. “He works security for me.”

The silence lasted long enough that Tony fidgeted. “You do know him? He said he worked under you at Shield.” He made sure it didn’t sound dirty.

“Stark, I don’t have time for whatever game you’re playing.” There was a touch of heat in Coulson’s voice now. “Agent Barton is assigned to the helicarrier.”

“Jarvis, please send Agent Coulson a copy of the incident in my lab.” Tony made sure to sound a bit angry now. “I thought he might’ve gotten hold of you, if he was in trouble. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business with the police.” He gestured so JARVIS would shut down the line. “Jarvis, I believe we have a problem.”

“Indeed we do,” JARVIS agreed. “On several fronts. Miss Potts has arrived and is pounding towards you.”

“That first.” Tony met her halfway up the stairs. She grabbed hold of him and shook him hard enough to send his head bobbing.

“Why are you always being kidnapped?” She clutched him tightly. “They blew up the door? Is your… thingy okay?”

“My thingy is fine.” Tony steered her upstairs and they sat together on a small sofa out of the main chaos. “It was Natasha Romanoff,” he whispered in her ear. “She’s looking for Clint Barton.”

“Your boyfriend from the helicarrier?” Pepper didn’t come close to whispering, and several heads turned to gape at him. Tony rolled his eyes at the description, but he wasn’t going to fuss at her right now, which she knew.

“Everyone is after him, except Agent Coulson, but I fixed that.” Tony kissed her. “I’m fine. Breathe. How’s Happy?”

“Angry. He swears it won’t happen again.”

He shrugged. “She had a jammer on her. I’ll fix a workaround.”

“Sir, Agent Coulson is on the line.”

“Tell him I’m unavailable because of the kidnapping attempt and schedule an appointment in the New York office for tomorrow.”

Pepper frowned. “Tony.”

“I told Coulson that Barton works for me and has gone missing. I have no doubt he called Fury immediately, and the two of them spent time screaming at each other. Oh, the games we play. Pepper, if Romanoff can’t find Barton, no one can.” Tony nuzzled her ear. “Except Jarvis.”

She pulled back. “Are you sure this isn’t some elaborate game to get him in our good graces?”

“Yes.” Tony smiled. He liked being the only one with the answer. “You see, he and I are in this club together.”

“Do you have a secret handshake and everything?”

“Good idea. I’ll get on that.” Tony spotted the police detective who was tired of waiting and descending upon them. “Can you handle this? Good. Love you.” He gave her a kiss on the check and bolted for his lab.

“Sir, I suggest you hurry. The CIA feel as if they have a confirmed location on Mr. Barton’s whereabouts, and I believe their intent is less than peaceful.”

“Load the flight plan.” Tony threw off his clothes in record time and slithered into his flight suit. “ETA?”

“Two hours at maximum speed, which I don’t recommend.”

“Sounds like fun.” Tony didn’t wait one second after the last part was secured. He roared up out of his garage and hit the sky hard enough to make it boom.

********


	16. Two months earlier

********

Not a single car went by for three hours, and Clint began to think he’d taken the wrong road out of town. Sweat trickled down his spine, and he felt like a dirty washrag, wrung to dry. Maybe he should’ve gone to the doctor after all.

Discouraged and hating whatever decision he made, he trudged off the road to put his butt down under a tree for a little shade. He dug out a pop and started slurping, wondering what the hell he was thinking. No map. No phone. One too many blows to the head was the answer to this stupidity.

The sound of engines made him look up, but he didn’t get excited and run to the road. Looking desperate was never a good idea. The lead vehicle was a diesel pickup with a king cab, newer, and he could only stare when it came to a halt.

The window rolled down, and a guy shouted at him. “Hey!”

Clint didn’t get up. “Yeah?”

“We lost a guy back at the last town. Need a job?”

Four trucks loaded with two combines each stretched behind the lead pickup. The guy smiled, and it looked real, not fake. Clint tilted his head. “Me?”

“No one else on the road. Get in, and we’ll talk. You look sturdy.”

Taking his time, Clint went to the pickup and hopped inside. His body cheered at the air conditioning, but he kept his duffle at his feet, in case he needed his knife. “This is a trick, right?”

“No trick.” The guy was short, square, built like box, but not fat. His hands looked like he’d seen hard work, and his boots were dirty. He topped off his jeans and casual shirt with a John Deere hat that had seen better days. “Karl Bibby. You?”

“Clint Barton.”

“Criminal record?”

That was an interesting question to start. Clint shook his head. “Juvie stuff.”

“I like an honest answer.” Karl flexed his hands on the wheel. “Heard of custom harvesting?”

“I’m from Iowa,” Clint deadpanned. “Land of pigs and corn.”

Karl laughed, an easy sound. “Who beat you up?”

Clint took his time to find an answer. “Last job went south. Things were falling off the truck, if you know what I mean, and I made the mistake of noticing. I didn’t quit soon enough.”

After a nod, Karl accepted it. “Your duffle is military.”

“Surplus.” Clint shrugged, disgusted that he hadn’t seen it. Natasha would be so ashamed of him. “The Army likes men who graduate high school. I hit the road in fourth grade.”

There was a beat. Karl blurted, “Damn, that’s tough!”

“Best of bad choices. Ended up in the circus. I’m used to working hard.” Clint relaxed a little, drinking some pop, and glad the sweat was drying on his skin. Natasha had taught him the best lies where the ones layered in the truth. “No social, no license, cash only, but I work, not laze around and smoke cigarettes.”

Karl glanced over, looking him up and down. “Can you drive truck?”

“I can drive anything.” Clint really could. “I still got a mean handstand, too.”

They laughed together, and Karl turned up the air a smidge. “I provide food and lodging. I’ll pay cash twice a month but half what the other guys get, since this is all under the table. Deal?”

Clint considered it, not sure. “Where we headed?”

“We’re swinging up through the Midwest to Canada.” Karl pointed lazily at Clint’s duffle. “Got a gun?”

“Knife.” Clint saw no reason to lie. He nudged the glove box. “Gun?”

“Nope.” Karl smiled. “Hammer under the seat. Clint, we got a deal?”

“I’m not leaving this air conditioning without a fight.” Clint let the tension drain out of his shoulders. “Just. If you want me to leave, tell me. You don’t need to beat the crap out of me.”

“I can promise you that, too.” Karl flicked on his turn signal. “Let’s get out on the interstate and make up some time.”

Every day, twice a day, for the next week, Clint told himself to pack up and leave. He had places to be, arrows to shoot, people who probably needed killing. Then he’d swing up into the cab of the combine, crank the air, and settle back to harvest corn, so much corn. Karl liked him in a combine because trucks were sometimes pulled over by the police, and Clint didn’t have a license to drive anything. Well, he had six fake licenses, but Karl didn’t need to know that. Anyone could drive a combine, a machine big enough to wreck a town and kill anyone in its path. Laws were crazy like that.

The corn gave Clint plenty of time to think about his life. Coulson would have ordered up a psych evaluation if he’d known what was going on, but Clint didn’t have the luxury of someone ordering him around right now. It was a good thing, and a bad thing. Sometimes, he caught himself, waiting for Karl to tell him to grab a bite to eat or hit the sack.

Waiting for orders.

He hated himself a little for that. His life hadn’t been his own in years. He’d been fooling himself, thinking he was independent and strong. His bad attitude hid the fact that he did what he was told, always and especially quick if Coulson handed out the orders.

Everyone knew Coulson was Clint’s weakness, and Fury had used it against him more than once. Looking back, it was embarrassing.

Coulson had cut him loose, leaving without a word, a goodbye, fuck off, or anything. Clint had worked through his anger and denial. Now, he was on to grief, god damn it. Grieving for a man who’d lied and thrown him aside was stupid, but that was Clint’s life.

Stark would understand. He knew exactly what if felt like to have no friends, only colleagues and people who wanted to kill him. Twice, Clint had taken out the tracker to stare at it. It was a strange little thing. The second time, it had sprouted legs and scurried back into Clint’s pocket. Clint had nearly screamed, and then he’d laughed. Trust Stark to make a tracker that could follow someone around. It had even been through the wash. Good tech, and Clint mourned for the arrows he’d never have.

A truck pulled up, and Clint unloaded his corn before swinging back out in the field to gather more and more. The sun was barely up, and there was nothing to see but corn. He wondered if this was the definition of fate, or bad luck, or whatever. Born in corn country, left for the big city, goes back to corn country; or maybe it was more like a bad movie.

He flicked on the radio and lost himself in a golden haze, waking up the next day to do the same thing all over again. And again.

********


	17. Now

********

“I believe the source of their information comes from this picture posted to several social media sites.” JARVIS put it up in the corner of the HUD. “Facial recognition confirms that it is Mr. Barton, not an alien as the text screams. The pictures all date to the day he left the helicarrier in the quinjet.”

“Instagram is cool. Snapchat is lame.” Tony gave the picture a good look, feeling his temper start to stir. “Do we know why Barton is covered in blood and dirt?”

“The blood seems to be from his nose, and I assume he was thrown in the dirt. He does appear to be conscious and ambulatory.”

“I’m going out on a limb here, but I think Fury’s men beat the snot out of him.” Tony wondered if he had time to track them down and light up their asses. “Where is he in that picture?”

“Outside Enid, Oklahoma. The CIA is concentrating their search there, but I am afraid they are on a wild goose chase.” JARVIS sounded smug.

“So, we have time to swing by the helicarrier?” Tony wanted to scream at Fury, just for fun.

“We do, and I have a location for you.”

“Let’s do it.” Tony swung around and kicked off a different direction. “Did you find out why Mossad is after him?”

“I am afraid to speculate, but their intentions are quite hostile.”

“As long as they’re not close, we’ll ignore them.” Tony found the helicarrier off the coast of California in deep water, chugging along, and he thumped down on top of the bridge and considered cutting a hole. It’d be dramatic.

“Don’t wreck my boat.” Fury appeared behind him, stealing the moment. “Your father worked hard on the design. Have some respect.”

“He was doing that instead of raising me,” Tony muttered and then flicked on the speaker system. “Hi, Nick. Got Barton?”

“No. You?” Fury looked out over the waves, hands behind his back.

“No.” Tony strode over to stand next to him. “You could’ve asked. I would’ve given him a place without all this drama.”

“Barton’s outgrown Shield, but he has a lot of pride.” Fury didn’t look at Tony. “And I forgot about his loyalty issues. I thought he’d weasel his way into your good graces, and when it came time for the Avengers, he’d be ready.”

“With a lot of my great tech.” Tony lifted his mask. “You pushed too hard. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Yeah, me too.” Fury turned to face him. “The men who assaulted him were fired, and they didn’t get a good reference.”

“Well, there is that. Is Romanoff going to kill you? She looked pretty pissed when she kidnapped me.”

“Coulson might beat her to it,” Fury growled. “You going after him?”

“Working on it. I had this urge to tell you how hard you screwed up.” Tony grinned, unable to help himself. “I’ll go after my wayward Avenger. Time to get started on that project anyway.”

Fury laughed, low and harsh. “Sometimes, I think you think you’re in charge.”

“One of these days, you’re going to figure out that I am.” Tony only had one more thing to say. “But I’m not dealing with Coulson. Man likes his taser a little too much.”

“That he does.”

Tony dropped his visor and took off with a little extra bounce to rock the boat. “I almost feel sorry for the guy.”

“I do not. He never should have made slurs on Mr. Barton’s character," JARVIS said.

“Way to hold a grudge. I’m impressed.” Tony kicked his speed up a notch to get there after lunch. “You know what the lesson is here, Jarvis?”

“I am afraid to ask.”

“Never attend board meetings.”

********


	18. One month earlier

********

The money was pretty good, even with his deduction, and not having to worry about meals and lodging meant he had plenty. There were the trips to small towns along the way to drink beer and start fights, and he went along, spending his money easily because he had it and it wasn’t like he could stuff it in a bank. SHIELD would find him instantly if he did that. His rusty Spanish got a workout, and he was fluent again by the end of the first week driving combine.

Karl appreciated that, laughing about a translator bonus more than once. He was one of the good guys, taking care of his crew but not afraid to fire the men who didn’t pull their weight. There were always men willing to get in a truck and go. The money made sure of that.

A shit ton of corn went through his combine before acceptance took root. Coulson had screwed him over, and that was done. Clint was fine. He didn’t need anything or anybody, except a card from Natasha at Christmas. It wasn’t as if Clint was going back to SHIELD. He’d made that decision, and he wouldn’t be changing his mind. He’d put in the years and gotten a kick in the ass for it.

And Sitwell was on Clint’s short list. Next time they met, if they met, Clint would stick an arrow in him, even if he had to buy a set at Wal-Mart.

“Clint, we’re headed up to Canada next.” Karl caught him as Clint headed for a shower at the Motel 6. “You’ll need a passport.”

“Or…” Clint dragged the word out, knowing by the look on Karl’s face that there was an unpleasant option available.

“Or you can hide in the combine, and I’ll make sure we hit the crossing at night.” Karl looked apologetic. “Wear dark clothes. They never check the combines.”

Or Clint could make his own way across. It was easy as falling off a log. He stuck his hands in his pockets, stared at his boots (they were almost broke in to comfort) for a minute, and then got up the guts. “You want me to come along? I can head south, find a job somewhere else. It’s been a good ride, but I--.”

Karl stopped him by putting a hand on Clint’s shoulder and giving him a small shake. “You’re my best worker and practically the foreman. I can grab a cup of coffee and be sure that you’ll keep the corn coming. I’d take it as a personal favor if you’d finish out the month with us. I’ll see you get a bonus.”

Stunned, Clint rubbed the back of his neck, glad it was dark and hid his blush. “Never search doesn’t mean won’t search. Let me off about a mile from the crossing. I’ll catch up with you soon enough.”

Raising his eyebrows, Karl tilted his head. “Don’t get caught.”

“Not likely.” Clint would die of embarrassment if that happened, solving all his problems. “I’m gonna hit the shower.”

“Thanks, Clint. I mean that.” Karl stuck out his hand, and Clint shook it before making an awkward exit into his room, where Cody was watching porn with his hand on his dick. Cody was a fresh out of high school graduate with a D average, and the boy could work in the field all day long without a complaint. As long as he had his porn, he was fine. Clint bunked with him because he didn’t have to worry about getting jumped at night.

“Girl on girl, Clint. Pull up a dick.”

“Nah, gonna hit the shower. Enjoy.” Clint wondered more than once if when Cody got home with his pile of money he’d open a porn shop. The shower was good enough, and Clint let the water stream down his face. Lucky little shit had a home.

Sure enough, they finished the job the next day and packed up for Canada. They lost a guy who didn’t want to go that far north, but Karl wasn’t worried. The jobs in Canada were smaller this year because of the drought.

They headed north the following morning, and Karl made sure Clint was in the lead pickup. Clint relaxed back in the comfort and traded out his boots for his Converse. He wasn’t worried. His knee felt good, the nights were warm, and he’d sat on his ass in a combine enough to make this fun. By the time they were close to the border, Clint started to feel the adrenaline hitting him, and it was heady.

“Leaving your duffle here?” Karl asked.

“Yeah. Don’t take my money, okay?” Clint grinned, not worried. He pulled out his wallet, the knife, and the hidden fake IDs, just in case. “Don’t act surprised if you’re searched.”

“Why would we?”

“Elevated terror threat yesterday. The border patrols might be a bit nervous.” Clint bounced his leg, ready to get moving.

“One of these days, Clint, you’re going to tell me who you really are.”

“What you see is what you get. Slow down here.” Clint couldn’t wait any longer.

“I’ll pull over.”

“Nope, just slow down.” Clint patted Karl on the shoulder, climbed out the window into the bed of the truck, and from there it was one easy jump and a roll. It was dark as hell, but he wasn’t worried. He’d make his way across the border and meet up with them at a hotel in Fort Francis. He traveled easy, staying light on his feet and keeping to the darkness. No moon out to cause trouble, and it felt good to dodge and evade, skulk and skirt trouble without finding it. It would’ve been better with a bow in his hands, but a man couldn’t get everything, as Clint kept learning.

Clint took what he could get and tried to be grateful. Reaching too high never worked out. He slipped behind a tree to take several deep breaths, and he could almost hear Coulson’s voice in his ear telling him to be patient, don’t rush, let it happen.

He hated that he’d always hear that voice, and he was grateful. Pathetic summed it up pretty damn well. His mind cleared, and he went, ghosting across the border and thinking of people he shouldn’t.

Luck was on his side, and he rolled into the back of Karl’s pickup long before they hit a hotel. He noticed the passenger’s side window was still down, and with one graceful movement, he was sitting beside Karl again.

“Holy shit!” Karl jerked the steering wheel, and Clint steadied it. They stopped at the next light, and Karl’s mouth was still hanging open. “What the hell? How did you know? They searched everything!”

“Lucky guess.” Clint hoped no one was looking for him. The last thing Karl needed was the CIA screwing up part of the harvest. “You okay?”

“I feel violated. They checked under the combines! But, yeah, I’m good.” He put his hand on his chest. “My heart is racing!”

“Take deep breaths.” Clint kept his eye on the rearview mirror, but so far, so good. “And let’s get out of town, okay?”

“Oh, we’re not stopping until it’s time to unload the combines.” Karl got on the CB radio and made it happen. Clint cranked the AC and settled back to let the adrenaline settle its way out of him.

“That was fun.”

“You’re one of a kind, Clint.” Karl clapped him on the knee and laughed. “You need a nickname, like--.”

Clint hated to interrupt him, but he didn’t need another nickname. “I already have one. Hawkeye. And one’s enough.”

Karl nodded. “It suits you. Lots better than Corndog, which is what the guys have been calling you.”

“Take that back,” Clint grumbled, and then he laughed. One more nickname wouldn’t kill him.

********


	19. Now

********

“Sir, I’m putting through a call from Agent Coulson at Miss Potts’ request.”

Tony groaned. “Jarvis, I’m stuffing you in a toaster!”

“Stark, you’re not even in New York!”

“What’s your point?” Tony wished he’d eaten breakfast. His stomach was distracting him from flying. “Heard of video conferencing? Skype? I could fly there by tomorrow in my suit. Jarvis, why is this man bothering me?”

“Because Miss Potts has your telephone over-ride codes.”

“Oh, yeah.” Tony vaguely remembered some sort of addendum to her last contract. She’d called it a ‘deal-breaker.’ He’d called it ‘stupid.’

“Where is Clint Barton, Stark?” Coulson growled - a real growl, one that sounded dangerous.

“I don’t know,” Tony said. He was able to sound convincing because he hadn’t glanced at the end of their flight plan. “Don’t pretend you care. Fury said you wrote him off. I believe it. I found him in the vents, looking like hell, and I suspect that was on you as well. Hey, Jarvis, can I hang up now?”

“I am uncertain. I will consult Miss Potts.”

“Stark! Where?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, but I don’t, so I can’t. Jarvis did inform me that the CIA believes they’ve located him.” Tony waited a beat. “And why is Mossad after him? Do they plan to kill him? I sorta like him.”

“Shit,” Coulson whispered. “Listen, just, get there first, okay?”

“He’s not your problem any longer. Fury fired him, and you abandoned him. No one on the helicarrier would even give him the time of day, except to call him a slut, and honestly, I blame you for that.”

“As do I,” JARVIS said. The call clicked off, and Tony sniffed.

“Barton is too good for that guy.” Tony sighed. “Are we there, yet? I’m starved.”

********


	20. Two days earlier

********

“I like Canada,” Clint said, flopping back on the hotel bed and prying off his boots. “Nice people. Good food.”

“Good porn, too.” Cody threw his bag down and collapsed face first on his bed. “We’re almost done. Thank god. I’m fucking tired of corn.”

Clint nodded, but he wasn’t. Maybe he was idiot, but it was work and no one called him a slut and a loser. “Gotta find something else after this.”

“Head to California. Always shit to do there.” Cody pulled a pillow over his head. “I’m flying home to Wisconsin. Mom is getting antsy.”

“You got enough money for your farm?”

“A good start. I’ll try to find a place to rent, buy a few dairy cows.” Cody’s voice was muffled. “It’ll be great.”

Glad Cody couldn’t see his jealous face, Clint got up and went to shower. It was stupid. He’d been alone for years. He needed to stop wanting shit he couldn’t have, like friends. Rubbing his face with his hands, he cringed a little. Natasha was gonna kill him. Dead. He never should’ve fallen off the grid for so long.

Maybe he could blame it on Stark. She might believe it. He laughed to himself, finished his shower, and went out to shove Cody the direction of the tub. Clint wasn’t the young man’s mother, but Cody needed reminding that he stank.

Tired, but restless, Clint re-dressed and padded downstairs to the computer in the lobby. He poured over the news and checked the weather, glad to see clear skies for their last harvest. Karl would head south day after tomorrow, and Clint had to make up his mind on which direction he wanted to go.

Knowing it was time, but cringing at the beating he’d receive, he logged in to his Tumblr and re-blogged a picture he found of a combine working a field. He tagged it with one word – balletmonster. Natasha hated the website, but it was handy for passing messages. Even SHIELD didn’t know about it. He had to blink at the instant heart he received. She was online. Reluctantly, he opened the instant messenger, shitty system.

_Balletmonster_

_I’m okay._

_Aquiver_

The reply was fast.

_Aquiver_

_The Big M is closer than you think. Fly._

_Balletmonster_

Shocked, Clint logged out, deleted everything, and unplugged the machine for good measure. He walked, calmly, to get a pop and a snack before going to sit outside on the hood of Karl’s pickup. It was time to run. Mossad would kill him and anyone who got in their way. It’d been an accident. He hadn’t intended to kill their operative. Things got crazy when everyone was firing at each other.

It’d been a long time ago, but Mossad was patient when it came to grudges, and Clint wondered if Sitwell had tipped them off that he was vulnerable.

“Nice night, huh?”

Clint gave a full-body twitch and then relaxed. “Yeah, it is.”

“You okay?” Karl leaned against the side of the pickup. “You look spooked.”

“Heard from a friend of mine.” Clint shrugged, not willing to say more.

“Give me one more day, Clint. I can’t finish this on time without you.” Karl’s voice held a note of pleading.

It was a risk, but he thought it over, head down. “I’ll meet you at the job site tomorrow. If anyone asks for me, tell them everything. Don’t lie. Promise me.”

“I’ll tell them everything.” Karl swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, clear to see even under street lights. “I won’t lie.”

“Your life may depend on this.” Clint hated that he’d done this to Karl. “I’m sorry. I thought I could get away.”

Karl swiped his hat off, fiddled with it, and shoved it back on his head. “You’re a good man, Clint. Find some place to call your own.”

If only it were that easy.

********


	21. Now

********

“Sir--.”

“What now, Jarvis?” Tony interrupted. “I’m flying here!”

“I know your mental abilities are being taxed to the limit, but I have received a message from Miss Romanoff from an unlikely source, and I believe it is pertinent to your current speed.”

“Spill.” Tony had stopped for coffee and a cheeseburger, signed a few autographs, and was just now getting back on track.

“Mossad has our mutual friend in their sights. If you know where he is, and don’t act, I’m going to hunt you down and kill you,” JARVIS said, obviously quoting the very dangerous lady.

“Shit!” Tony put everything he had into the thrusters. “Tell Nick where to find us.”

********


	22. Five minutes earlier

********

Combines had a top speed of sixteen miles an hour, or so the manual said, but Clint thought it was the biggest lie he’d ever read. He worked as fast as possible, bitched at his crew to get their asses in gear every hour or so, and considered yelling at the corn. Karl said nothing, just nodding a time or two. No one had showed up at the hotel last night, but that didn’t mean anything. Clint had spent the night getting to the job site and then waiting by the barn for them to arrive. He hadn’t been followed. He hoped.

“What the hell is up with Corndog?” Cody whispered.

No one answered him. Clint yelled at a few of the truckers to get a move on and felt better for it. The sun was starting to make its run to the west, and he had that itchy feeling in his gut that said he was out of time. He hated that.

He’d kept his duffle in his combine, but it was too far if he needed his knife. He took a hard look around the fields one more time.

“Corndog!”

Clint twisted to see what Cody wanted, and it saved his life. The bullet tore through his shoulder instead of his heart. He turned his fall into a flip, landed hard on his hands and knees, and scrambled under the combine, glad it wasn’t moving. His head spun, blood pumped, and he hoped everyone was running far away. He pressed his back into the tire as a bullet ripped into the corn stubble next to his hand.

He wasn’t dead, yet, but it was coming for him.

********


	23. Now

********

His screen flipped into red battle mode, and Tony took out the sniper by blowing up the tree, then landing in his classic stance in front of some farm machinery that looked pretty cool.

“Jarvis?”

“The sniper is still alive, moving away at a high rate of speed.”

Tony sent a little something after him. “Track him.”

“Iron Man!” A kid nearly ran into him. “Shit! Corndog!”

The kid scooted under the machine, practically at Tony’s feet. “Shit! Fuck! Damn!”

“Shut up, Cody,” Barton whispered. “Help me.”

Waiting wasn’t Tony’s strong suit, and he scooped Barton up from the dirt without asking as soon as he cleared the tire. “Dead?”

“Thinking about it,” Barton said, eyes drooping shut.

“Nearest hospital, Jarvis.” Tony made sure not to blast the kid, sent Nick the tracking data on the sniper, and ignored the police cars storming down the highway to their location. Four minutes later, he thumped down outside the emergency room in a town called North Battleford. He clanked inside, satisfied when he received immediate attention. With care, he put Barton down on a gurney. “Don’t die. Romanoff will kill me.”

“No promises,” Barton whispered.

Tony stepped back as Barton was swarmed by nurses shouting. “Jarvis, let’s go hunt down that sniper.”

“I agree completely, sir.”

********


	24. Now

********

“Your bag is on the floor next to you.”

Clint tried for a deep breath, coming up short, but he was alive. “Hey, Tash.”

“Later, when no one is watching, I’m punching you in the arm.”

“Yeah, figured.” Clint accepted the ice chip with a grin. “This sucks.”

“You’ll live.” Natasha rolled her eyes at his stupid humor. “Shield is talking about moving you.”

“No.” Clint wasn’t going with them, not unless he was in a body bag.

Natasha stared down at him for the longest time. “You made the mistake of believing them.”

“They made the mistake of being assholes,” Clint snarled. “Tony’s okay?”

“Tony, huh?” Natasha fed him another ice chip. “He’s his fine, obnoxious self. There are also two guys out in the waiting room from the farm.”

“Crap.” Clint had managed to screw that up. “Send them in. I know they have tight schedules.”

“Clint Barton, you never cease to make me want to punch you.” But she strolled out the door, and a few minutes later, Karl and Cody pushed their way inside, both of them looking awkward, almost shy.

“You okay, Corndog?” Cody blurted.

“Shut up, Cody.” Karl gave Clint the once-over. “Good job on not dying.”

“Thanks. Everyone okay? The harvest done?”

“Iron Man was there!” Cody bounced on his toes. “He’s so cool.”

“We’re good. I wanted to check on you, give you your bonus.” Karl pulled a fat envelope out of his coat pocket. “You earned it.”

Clint hated that he blushed because he knew Natasha was watching. “Give it to Cody. He saved my life, and he needs it for a farm.”

They both went very still. Cody lost all the color in his face. “What?” he whispered.

Karl paused and then grinned. “Tony Stark is your friend?”

“Didn’t happen on purpose.” Clint nodded, feeling his energy fading. “You two go home. I’m good.”

“You’re better than that.” Karl patted him on the shoulder. “Get well, Clint, and thanks.”

Cody thanked him about a dozen times, but Clint fell asleep before he could yell at him. Waking up the second time was so much easier, and he stretched his legs, wiggling his toes before he cracked open his eyelids.

The breath slammed out of his body, and he clamped his mouth shut so he didn’t gasp, cry out, or beg. The suit, the shoes, the tie; it was all the same, except for the bags under Coulson’s eyes and the way he’d reached before letting his hand drop.

Clint knew it was ridiculous, but he felt vulnerable, weak. He tugged his blanket a little higher and hoped he didn’t have to talk first.

“The assassin is in Shield custody. Stark might’ve blown him up a little, but we have no concrete proof of that.” He sounded tired, worn out, voice pitched low. “Damn it, Barton, say something.”

Clearing his throat, Clint decided to stall by sipping the tiny cup of water by his bed. His hand shook a little when he put it back. He licked his lips. “I missed you.” And he wanted to slap himself in the face. He shuddered from disgust at his stupid brain. Several metric shit tons of corn through the hopper, and he was still not over it. Instead of looking at Coulson, Clint whispered, “I quit Shield.”

The door opening made Clint look, and Tony was squaring off in front of Coulson. “Did you tell him how agents called you a ‘bike’? That R and D wouldn’t make your gear? Or ask him why he was such a douche canoe?”

Coulson went a shade whiter than pale. Clint groaned. “Shut up, Tony!”

“No, Clint, I will not.” Tony tucked his fists onto his hips. “No one should have to hang out with me because an entire boatload of people is harassing them!”

Clint couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Your self-esteem is showing, Stark.”

The door clicked as Coulson shut it behind him. Clint let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“Jarvis is sure it was, and my computer is never wrong.” Tony bounced over to him. “I met Karl. He let me drive a combine. I have so many ideas.”

Putting his hand up to his face, Clint groaned. “I’m sure you do. Karl needs to get his butt back to the States. His wife misses him.”

“I saw him and his crew off and promised to look after you. That Cody kid sure can curse. I respect that.” Tony started fiddling with everything. “Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?”

“You put a tracker in my pocket,” Clint said with no inflection. “I found it before I left the helicarrier.”

“You are no fun.” Tony went to Clint’s duffle and started rummaging. “Come here, little baby.”

The damn thing crawled up Tony’s hand, and Tony encouraged it to slide into his phone. “Jarvis, you know what to do.”

“The hell you doing, Stark?” Clint had a feeling it wasn’t a good thing.

“The tracker gets audio.”

It was Clint’s turn to go pale. “Not fair.”

“Sorry.” Tony patted Clint’s arm awkwardly. “Shield tried to remove you from this hospital while you were unconscious. I blocked them, but it's your call from here on out.”

Coulson’s face was probably going to haunt Clint’s dreams, but he knew what he had to do. “Can you drop me off somewhere? Tahiti? Alaska?”

“How about you join my super-secret boy band instead? I’m calling us the Avengers.” Tony grinned, wild and crazy. “It’s going to be so much better than Nick’s. I’ll design you bows that will make you cry.”

“That’s easier than you think.” The mention of a bow jarred Clint’s memory. He had to tell someone about Sitwell. “Did I dream Natasha threatening to punch me?”

“Pretty sure that happened.” Tony nodded. “Let’s get you on my plane, and we can discuss.” He headed for the door. “Rest.”

“You exhaust me.” Clint shut his eyes and drooped back on his pillow. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be an Avenger, but it was that or spend the rest of his life running. He might’ve been dozing when the door woke him up again. He fisted his hand into the cover and waited for the words that would shatter him. Coulson stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at his shoes. Clint felt like his heart stopped beating. “Hey, it’s okay. You found someone nice. I’m glad,” he lied. “The thing with me was…” he trailed off, unsure how to finish when for him it’d been perfect.

Coulson bit his lower lip. “She was a cover. The job. She went home to Portland.” He seemed to shrink into his suit. “But I asked for the assignment. I couldn’t stay, not after…”

“Yeah,” Clint breathed, trying to understand and failing but not willing to ask. “Hill said you’d rather date anyone than a used-up circus whore. I get that.”

Coulson’s jaw tightened, and Clint hoped they were done. The silence stretched, and Clint wished he could trust Coulson with the fact that Sitwell had tried to have him killed. Trust was hard earned and easily broken, and Clint knew Coulson would believe Sitwell over him.

“Director Fury wants you on the helicarrier. I’m going to arrange transport,” Coulson finally said, seeming to push out the words. “We’ll debrief along the way.”

That was how it was going to be. Business as usual. Back to the grind, ignoring whatever it was that was between them. Coulson’s hand was on the doorknob when Clint found a word. “No.”

He turned. “I suppose not. Tony Stark has you now.”

The words were harsh, bitten off, and Coulson looked as angry as Clint had ever seen him. Clint shuddered out a breath and wished there were words that could help. “Look on the bright side, everyone else who threw me out like yesterday’s garbage is dead.”

Those weren’t the words to make this better, but Clint wasn’t taking them back. Coulson ducked his head so it was impossible to see his face. Two seconds later, he was gone. Clint supposed that was the closure he needed. He put his good arm over his eyes and tried to keep breathing.

*******

Letting them have a moment of privacy made Tony want to blast things. Coulson came out looking like he’d been punched, and Tony was irrationally happy about that.

“And don’t let the door hit you in the ass!”

Like a snake, Coulson whipped around. His eyes were blazing in a real, honest emotion. “You hurt him, and--.”

“Like you did?” Tony interrupted, shooting the words out. “Throw him away when I’m tired of the blowjobs? That’s more your style. I’m honest with people. You let him think you cared and then walked out like he was yesterday’s whore. I’m not sure how you sleep at night.”

“I don’t sleep at night.” Coulson narrowed his eyes, looking dangerous. “In our line of work, attachments are a danger. He’ll live longer without me around.”

“So, you’d rather he die thinking you used him? Okay, that makes sense.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Because this line of work, as you say, kills people every day, and I may not be there next time you throw him into the line of fire.”

Coulson breathed hard, hands clenched into fists. “Stark.”

“Hey, Fury said he hired a new Hawkeye. Maybe you can fuck her over. Better hurry back to the helicarrier.” Tony kept pushing, wanting to know the truth. “Even Jarvis was offended on Clint’s behalf. Do you know how hard it is to offend a computer? How many years did it take to break him down, or did he come in pieces? Is this your specialty, Coulson, mind fucking people?”

Lashing out, Coulson punched Tony in the face. Tony came up from the floor with a grin. “Not a robot after all.”

Before the second blow could land, a slender figure slipped in between them and put Coulson against the wall with a small thud. “Is he right, Coulson? Was it all a game?”

“No.” Coulson didn’t fight with Romanoff. “He loves me, Natasha. I saw it, when he was on his knees in my office. I thought it was him being horny, but he loves me. Nothing good could come from that. Someone always dies. I had to take off.”

“Loved you, Coulson. Loved.” Barton, fully dressed with his duffle over his good shoulder, shut the door behind him. “Nothing good _did_ come from that. Stark, we got a plane to catch.”

“Do I need a bandage?” Tony hated banging his face into things. He had to step quick to catch up with Barton, who wasn’t slowing down. “Am I bleeding?”

“A little.” Barton handed Tony his duffle. “Carry that. I’m injured. Is there food on this plane? Natasha, you coming?”

There was a grunt behind them, and then she was at Barton’s shoulder. “I’m still going to punch you.”

“Never doubted it.”

Tony made sure the limo was waiting as they made their escape from the hospital. Money smoothed the way, and Barton kept going until his ass hit the plush leather seats on Tony’s plane. Five seconds later, he was asleep. Tony put the chair back for him, and Natasha retrieved a blanket to put over him.

“He’s an idiot,” she said, smoothing his hair off his forehead. “Love is for children.”

“Well, they picked the scabs off. Either they’ll get back together, or get over it.” Tony got a scotch before finding his own seat. “I’m going to need bleach to get the mental image of Coulson screwing around in his office out of my head.”

“Me, too.” She had her own drink, and they buckled up as the plane prepared to take them to California.

********


	25. Fifteen weeks earlier

********

Taking Coulson his mid-morning coffee was the best part of what Clint would admit was his very pathetic day. He’d hurt his knee on a mission two days ago and dodging medical wasn’t as fun as it used to be. If he did it too much, Coulson would revoke his range privileges.

Clint never knocked. He’d earned the right not to, and he slithered around the door in his usual fashion. Coulson was right there. Right there. Clint cursed as coffee slopped on both of them.

“Hot!” Coulson jerked back into the wall as Clint managed to shut the door and spill more coffee on the floor. Clint opened his mouth to apologize, and Coulson took the cup. “Easier ways to get me out of my clothes!”

And there it was: the pitch hanging over the plate, just waiting for the bat to send it into the stands. Clint meant to laugh it off, but all that came out of his mouth was a low whine. Coulson had the reach to put the cup on his desk, but his eyes never left Clint’s face. Clint made the first move – he remembered that later – folding down to his knees, ignoring the pain from his recent injury. Coulson had the option now, and he could’ve thrown Clint out of his office. Instead, he laced his fingers through Clint’s hair.

Clint didn’t even remember taking Coulson’s pants down to his knees. He’d waited for this for so long, wanted this for a lifetime, and needed this forever. Coulson was everything Clint knew he’d be, and he spiraled up to an orgasm while he watched Coulson’s – Phil’s – face. Usually, Clint kept his eyes closed when he sucked cock, but nothing could’ve kept him from watching. Coulson gasped at every twist and lick, keeping his hand wrapped tight, and he wasn’t afraid to pull. Clint loved every second of it, giving everything to make it good. Coulson looked down, their eyes met, and Clint couldn’t look away as cum filled his mouth.

Coulson didn’t shove him back. He cradled Clint to his body and breathed hard, twitching a little. Clint wanted to stay like that the rest of his life.

A knock at the door sent them both scrambling, and Clint’s knee screamed in pain as he hid behind the door.

“Phil, I--.” Sitwell opened the door and stopped halfway through. “What the hell?”

“Spilled my coffee. Whatever it is, give me thirty and I’ll catch up with you.” Coulson’s eyes didn’t betray Clint’s position.

“Okay,” Sitwell said and then laughed as he left. Clint had a feeling that no one had been fooled here, but Coulson shrugged.

“I’m gonna hit the shower,” Coulson said, holding his wet shirt away from his body. He didn’t quite meet Clint’s eyes.

Clint nodded, unable to find words, afraid he’d made a mistake without knowing what it even was. He slipped up into a vent and escaped without being spotted to his quarters. He showered, took a pain pill for his knee, and let the bed swallow him. When he woke up, Coulson was in New York.

*******


	26. Now

********

The first three days, Clint stayed in bed, hurt and willing to listen to the idea of resting. The bedroom was ridiculously big for one person, with an adjoining bathroom that held a goddamn Jacuzzi. It was nicer than a motel. His pajamas probably cost most than Cody’s farm, feeling like sin on his body. There was a live-in chef and a maid, and JARVIS catered to Clint’s every whim. He didn’t complain when an actual doctor showed up to examine him, and he wondered if this was how mannequins felt.

Clint had nothing to say to Stark or Natasha, but eventually he started getting out of the huge bed. He moved from room to room, sleeping as much as possible on different sofas sprinkled through the house like apples on a tree. He felt weird, like his brain was on vacation while his body healed. He took his meds when JARVIS reminded him. The pills were usually delivered by Natasha, who punched him once or twice, glaring, but she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to dash off on another assignment. It was damn odd.

Finally, Stark found him on the sofa in the shop and squatted down in front of him. “I can have a drone take him out.”

Clint shrugged, turning his face away. “Seems like a lot of trouble.”

“He speaks!” Stark popped up to his feet and pumped his fist in the air. “She owes me twenty bucks!”

The couch in Stark’s shop was more comfortable than any bed Clint had ever slept on, except the one upstairs, and he tugged his blanket a little higher while making sure nothing could bump his arm. It’d heal fast, but damn, it hurt. A bot – or so Stark called them – whirred by, a fire extinguisher clenched in his claw. Clint didn’t even ask. Stark rushed off after it, and there was a noisy conversation about being useful.

This place was nuts. His own room overlooked the ocean, but he found himself drawn to the shop, filled with cars and motorcycles, smelling of grease and metal. Once or twice, he missed his combine.

“Mr. Barton, it is time for your antibiotics,” JARVIS said. “You must eat first.”

“Okay.” Clint gave Stark the stink-eye. “Get me some food, douchebag.”

Stark’s mouth dropped open. “Hold me back, Jarvis.”

“Pizza is being delivered, sir. I believe Miss Romanoff is stealing money from your wallet as we speak. I explained to her that we have an account, but she didn’t seem to care.”

Clint found a tiny grin. Stark stormed upstairs, yowling about invasions of privacy, and JARVIS said, “Mr. Barton, may I make an inquiry of you?”

“Sure.” Clint almost hated to agree. He felt raw, blistered with emotions, and forcing out words made it worse, not better.

“Why have you not informed Shield of Agent’s Sitwell’s ill intent toward you?”

Now that was an easy one. “You have the proof? From your little tracker?”

“I do.”

Clint had done some thinking about that, but he wasn’t sure. Sitwell would laugh it off, Fury would probably believe him, and Clint really wanted to stick an arrow in him. “Timing is everything, Jarvis. Pull the arrow back, wait for the moment.”

“I believe I understand.”

Feet pounded on the stairs, and Tony brought the pizza to the coffee table. Natasha slipped onto the sofa next to Clint. JARVIS turned on the television, Dummy zoomed over, and Clint ate his pizza without noticing what was on it. Natasha got him his antibiotic, and he swallowed it without protest. “Pain pill?”

Her eyebrows went up. “You don’t like them.”

“I want one.” Clint needed to be fuzzy. The world seemed like too much work. She gave him a pill, and he downed it before she changed her mind. He sipped a pop that Stark had slid in front of him. “Did you like my combine?”

Stark nodded, grinning around a bite. “Good machine. I bought a few. I want to try some modifications, market them in countries without access to a lot of technology. Pepper is on board with it. That guy, Ken?”

“Karl Bibby,” Clint said, rolling his eyes.

“Good man. I bought him six new combines, top of the line, John Deere.” Stark said it so off-the-cuff casual. “He might’ve fainted.”

Clint blinked several times, fumbling over the math. “Whoa.”

“He didn’t know it, but he kept you safe while you were being an idiot.” Stark shrugged and shoved his mouth full. “No big deal,” he mumbled.

Someday, when Clint had a phone again, he’d track Karl down and thank him. Picking up a stranger on the side of the road and giving him a decent job was the mark of a sincerely good person. Stark’s gift was excessive, but Clint understood that Stark didn’t do anything by halves.

“Thanks for giving those to him. I liked driving combine, fields and fields of corn, so much corn, like a golden haze some days. I saw corn in my sleep. I may never eat Corn Pops again.” Clint stopped talking, not quite understanding why he’d even started.

“Okay, he’s stoned.” Stark snapped his fingers at him. “That’s why they called you Corndog!”

Natasha laughed, nudging him. “I always thought Hawkeye was pretentious.”

He sorta hated them both. “That moron, Cody, gave me the nickname. I hope he got his farm in Wisconsin. Stupid kid.”

“I’m sure he's happy.” Natasha smiled like she knew things. “Where is Pepper these days, Stark?”

“New York. I’m re-working some of the designs for the upper floors of the Tower, and she wanted to go supervise.” Stark looked away from them both. “Or get away from me. Whichever.”

Not knowing Pepper at all, Clint kept quiet. Natasha answered. “Or she wanted to get away from us. Did you ask her before you dropped two world-class assassins into the house?”

“No,” Stark snapped. “She knows about the Avengers. This is the beginning.”

“Did you ask her if she was okay with that?” Natasha poked at him again. “Also? Who else is on tap for this?”

Stark glared at Natasha. “Working on it. With three humans on the team, we’re going to need some heavy hitters.”

Everything was getting sideways, and Clint was ready to stare at the ocean awhile. “Natasha’s in the dead parent’s club,” he said, getting their attention. “Is Pepper?”

“No,” Stark said. “Thank god,” he whispered. “Anyway! What’s up next? Sleeping bags and popcorn?”

Clint bumbled to his feet and started upstairs, moving like an old man. He felt like one on the inside. “Bed.”

“We’ll have a sleepover later.” Stark trailed him, staying close. “Jarvis, Barton’s okay, right? Healing?”

“His projected healing time is well within normal parameters for a man his age.”

“Good. Good.”

The bed was closer, and Clint detoured to the bathroom before getting so comfortable he could melt. “Shut up for a while.”

Stark started buzzing about, talking and talking. Clint let the ocean put him to sleep.

********

“I’m worried about him, Jay, and that pisses me off,” Tony grumbled, gently pushing Dummy’s dirty rag away from his face.

“He doesn’t seem as vibrant as he was on the helicarrier,” Jarvis said. “He is also ten pounds underweight and still exhausted by even mild exercise.” There was a pause. “I will inform the chef to increase the carbohydrates in his diet.”

“Tell Romanoff to increase the threats so he eats it!” Tony didn’t think he was up to running the Avengers if it was going to be a lot of worrying and fussing. He wasn’t good at those things. What he was good at was in finishing right now. “Estimated time to completion?”

“Thirty-two minutes.”

“Good.” Tony wasn’t great at waiting either, so he called up Pepper. “How’s my tower?”

“My tower is progressing nicely,” Pepper replied, sauce in her voice. “I’ll need you in New York in two days.”

Tony gave it a thought. “Okay.”

There was a long pause. “Are you sick again? You never agree to anything that involves paperwork that quickly.”

“Wait. What? Paperwork?” Tony did his best to sound outraged. “With actual paper? We have discussed this, Miss Potts!”

“Oh, Tony.” Pepper laughed. “How are your houseguests?”

“Our houseguests are… okay? You know I’m not an expert in person to person maintenance subroutines.” Tony was careful with his pronouns.

“Very true.” Pepper seemed to be typing. “I’ll make the arrangements with Jarvis for your flight here. And tell Hawkeye a large box arrived here for him yesterday. It’s from Shield.”

“Jarvis can do that, too.” Tony paced over to the fridge and grabbed out a juice. “Hey, are we okay? ‘Cause I’m wondering if you hate me more than usual, lately.”

There was a pause and a long sigh. “Tony, you started a secret super hero club in our house without even asking me if I minded.”

“Sorry. Not sorry?” Tony hated it when Natasha was right, and she was _always_ right. “I know this is something I need to do.”

“And I’m in the position again of not knowing whether I can watch you try to kill yourself.” Pepper didn’t sound angry, but Tony would ask Jarvis later to make sure. “I guess.” She paused. “I keep thinking our lives will settle down, and we’ll be more normal than crazy.”

“Do you know me?” Tony blurted, and then he realized he was hurting his own cause. “Pep, it’ll be good. I promise. Once we track down Bruce Banner, and the expedition to--.”

“Stop, Tony,” Pepper said, and now the irritation was easy to hear. “Just stop. Please.”

“Got it. Stopping.” Tony slumped down on a sofa, tossing the juice on the coffee table and knowing he was screwing this up, but the Avengers was something he had to do, and he had to do it right now. “I love you, Miss Potts.”

“Sometimes love’s not enough, Mr. Stark.” The line clicked off.

Telling himself that she’d get over it was wearing thin. He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling as if he were on a slippery slope and about to go down hard. Something wet and cold touched his hand, and he looked up in shock but accepted the drink without delay, willing to overlook his peeve for good whiskey.

“You look like you could use one.” Barton had his own glass of whiskey, no ice, and he perched on the back of the sofa to sip it.

“Aren’t you still on pain killers?”

“No.” Barton sounded disgusted about that. “Tasha threw them in the toilet.”

“Women,” Tony grumbled. “I think Pepper hates me.”

Barton grunted and drained his glass. “She wants to be the CEO, a business woman. You want to put on a cape and fly around being some sort of super hero. Different tracks there, man.”

“No capes,” Tony said in a monotone voice, and they shared a pained grin. “I didn’t choose this path. It chose me.”

“Nah. You could’ve come home from Afghanistan and toed the line. Been the company man. Smiled and nodded at everything Stane said. You made the choice. Own it.”

Tony stared down into his whiskey, hating that truth a lot but unable to argue about it. “I came back a different man, and I know what I have to do now.”

“Pepper didn’t go.” Barton slid down to the cushion and placed his glass on a side table. “And you’re thankful for that.”

“I am.” Tony shuddered at the idea. Pepper did travel with him occasionally. They’d have killed her, no questions asked. “So, how’re you doing?” He awkwardly changed the subject, needing the spotlight off his messed up life. “Shoulder?”

“Better.” Barton still sported a sling. “Physical therapy is going to be a bitch. Tasha is merciless.”

“Ouch.” Tony winced in sympathy. He swirled his drink, wanting to poke the elephant in the room. “Agent Coulson?”

Barton shrugged, not even wincing when it had to hurt. “I’m not going to stand around and argue with him about it.”

“Love sucks,” Tony grumbled, getting to his feet with a groan and heading for a refill. He turned with the bottle. “More?”

Barton shook his head. “Is this what Avengers do? Sit around, drink booze, and bitch about our shitty lives?”

“Looks that way from over here.” Tony wasn’t ready to share all his plans. “I need to go to the helicarrier and talk to Fury. You willing to go along?”

After a long moment, Barton nodded. “Before or after New York?”

“Before.” Tony wasn’t entirely sure how they’d get there. What he needed was a quinjet, and he smiled. “Can Natasha get us a quinjet?”

“Get? Or steal?”

“Yes.” Tony saw a tiny smirk on Barton’s face, and it was an improvement from all the moping. “Jarvis can help.”

*********

Natasha had flown out to New York to help Pepper with a few matters, not that Stark needed to know that, leaving Jarvis and Clint to conspire to re-route a quinjet in their direction. Clint ended up in his bedroom, packing his duffle again. He had a few more clothes because Tasha had thrown out nearly everything he’d owned. She’d been a real dick about it. Harvesting had destroyed his clothes, but she could’ve been nicer about buying him new ones.

At least he’d saved his Converse, and he thought for a long moment on how to dress for this. He didn’t have combat gear any longer, but he could wear khakis and a nice shirt. Or… he could go in jeans and a hoodie. He flipped his knife over and over again, considering.

There was a season and a time for everything. The corn had taught him that. He knew he was on the right road now, but he wasn’t sure he was going the right direction. If he was going to be Hawkeye, he needed to live it to the fullest or not even bother.

Coulson would know what to say to him. Clint lowered his head, wishing he still didn’t want him.

“Mr. Barton, may I be of assistance?”

Frustration made Clint’s pride yield. “Just standing here, wondering what to wear to the party.”

“I have often observed Miss Potts in that same state of mind, but without a knife.” JARVIS had a way of sounding smug. It was probably the British accent. “For once, I am able to help. Sir has completed your suit. It is in the workshop.”

“Shit.” Clint threw his knife in the wall near the door, heading towards the shop. “There better not be sleeves.”

JARVIS was quiet on the walk down, and Clint tapped in the code to go inside.

“I never gave you that code,” Stark said, sprawled on the sofa in front of the television.

“So?” Clint kicked him on a dangling boot. “Where’s the suit?”

“That was supposed to be a surprise!” Stark popped up to his feet and clapped his hands. “And you’re too scrawny for it.”

“Give.” Clint could see by the glint in Stark’s eye that this was going to take some work. “Now.”

“I thought you’d wear your ‘God Bless Corn’ shirt,” Stark drawled. He strolled to his desk and cocked his hip on the edge of it. He was an annoying bastard, and he knew it. “And those jeans that had so much corn in the pockets that Natasha started a small, organic farm.”

“I must remind the maid to water those plants,” JARVIS said.

Clint looked around for something to throw. A wrench smacked the nearest server and a pizza box nailed Stark in the middle of the forehead.

“That was hurtful!” Stark grabbed up his wrench and clutched it to his chest. “Jarvis, buddy, are you okay? Speak to me!”

Silence.

“You killed Jarvis! You bastard!” Stark put the back of his hand to the red mark on his forehead. “Also? Ouch.”

Crossing his arms, Clint let his face tell Stark exactly how stupid he was.

“You look like a murderer.” Stark furrowed his brow. “Of kittens. Stop that. Alright, Jarvis, fun time is over. Open the closet and let’s give birth to Hawkeye 2.0.”

Prepared to mock, Clint rolled his eyes while turning so he could see. His brain ground to a halt.

“Hah! I know that look! You have seen genius!”

There were two ways to go here, and one really fed Stark’s ego. Clint shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “Looks stupid.”

“Liar. This is a work of art.” Stark grinned, damn it, knowing he was right. Clint gave up and went to touch it. It was goddamn perfect, from the boots, that weren’t clunky like SHIELD’s, to the sleeveless body armor that looked lighter than it should, but it was Stark so it was probably made out of titanium. Stark walked all the way around the suit. “I still think you need about ten more pounds to make it look good.”

Clint investigated all the pockets, liking the way they were positioned. He skimmed his fingers over the small patch on the left chest panel. It was a stylized A.

“Jarvis designed it. He said I’m too grandiose.”

“He’s right about that.” Clint liked it. He wasn’t SHIELD any longer. He was an Avenger. “I am going to kick so much ass in this suit.”

“I knew you’d like it. It’s warm in the winter, cool in the summer, will deflect any bullet out there, and won’t pinch in the crotch. That, in itself, is a miracle of engineering.” Stark waggled the wrench at him. “There are also sleeves, if you need them for some reason. I wasn’t sure about the purple accents, but Natasha showed me your outfit from the circus, and that--.”

“What?” Clint started listening. “That’s not possible!”

“Put it up, Jarvis, while I cover my eyes.”

Horror was the first emotion after disbelief. Clint stared at the digital reproduction of an old circus poster with him all over it. At least he had a mask on, but still… “I’m gonna kill myself.”

Stark laughed, waving the image away. “Someone uploaded it to a laptop on the helicarrier, and Natasha swiped it.”

Clint’s horror turned to extreme mortification. “You mean, she hacked someone’s files to get this?”

“Pretty much. A little more complicated than ‘hacked’ and I didn’t ask her what she was doing originally, so I have no idea what was going on, which means you can't hit me in the forehead again.” Tony pointed at the new suit. “Please return to worshipping my creation.”

There was only one person who had the memorabilia savvy to find something like that. Clint stared mindlessly at the suit, mind running through the scenarios without his permission. He didn’t like the conclusions he came to three separate times. “Coulson. She hacked Coulson. Why?” He shot the question out like a bullet. “What did you want?”

Stark raised his eyebrows. “I have no idea why that woman does anything. Do you?”

“No.” Clint could see that Stark was blameless. He yanked a rolling chair close and sat down with a small thump. He felt battered and bruised, and he was damn tired of it. “He made his choice.” The words came out hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure, but he was. “Right?” he whispered.

“Hey, maybe it’s old!” Stark nodded. “Before all the bullshit went down. Jarvis?”

There was a pause. “The file was created two days after Mr. Barton was shot.”

“Shit.” Clint pulled the sling up over his neck and threw it aside. It fluttered to the floor. Dummy scooped it up and rolled over to dangle it in front of Stark. Stark put it on the desk and thanked him, and Clint nearly laughed at the politeness. Stark was nicer to that robot than most people had ever been to Clint. “I don’t even know.”

“Clint, can I call you that? Why didn’t you come back with me from the helicarrier?” Stark perched up on his desk, frowning. “I was your assignment.”

It seemed stupid to talk about it, but Clint needed to get off the subject of Coulson. “Security didn’t give me a choice. They were supposed to take me to New York, where Fury thought you were living, but instead they dumped me in Oklahoma. At that point, I had to figure out how to get to California. I’d have shown up on your doorstep eventually.”

“They were assholes.” Stark nodded. “You could’ve picked up any phone and been delivered to my house within twenty-four hours.”

“I knew if I did, they’d want reports, and you’d figure it out, and then there’d be drama, and I just wasn’t up to it. I’m not a spy. It was a stupid assignment. So, I went to do something else for a while. No big deal.”

Stark wasn’t turning it loose. “But you kept my tracker. You had to know I’d show up sooner or later.”

“I didn’t.” Clint rubbed his face, feeling a hundred years old. “I was curious. That was all.”

“You don’t give up on people, do you?” Stark slid to his feet and started pacing. “Not people you care about. So, you need to make up your mind. Do you care about Coulson?”

“And you need to figure out if making Pepper happy will make you happy.” Clint thought that Stark wasn’t completely wrong. “We’re idiots.”

“We suck at people skills. Yes.” Stark pointed at the suit. “Put it on. Jarvis, the quinjet?”

“Will be here within the hour.”

“And the rest of it?”

“Ready, sir, as always.”

Clint caught Stark’s gaze. “You gonna cause trouble?”

“You bet your ass.”

It was time for details. “Count me in.”

********


	27. Six hours later

********

Tony left the suit of armor behind its locked bullet-proof glass, straightening his tie and making a small effort to look less rumpled than usual. He made sure his phone (new prototype) was in his pocket and gave Hawkeye a nod.

That was not Clint Barton. Barton had disappeared when the suit went on. He’d gone from being underweight and sulky to being a lethal bad ass, who probably ate kittens for lunch. People had gotten out of his way, which was convenient when they were walking. A couple of security guys had even fled.

“You don’t even have your bow.”

“They know I don’t need it,” Hawkeye growled.

“Well, try not to kill me in the confusion.” Tony dug out an earbud and handed it to Hawkeye as they walked. “Here’s your link to me and Jarvis.”

Hawkeye stared at it for a second and then put it in his ear without complaining. Tony hadn’t given him any weapons, not yet, but he had the feeling that Hawkeye was armed. And dangerous. They rounded the corner to the bridge, and Tony came to a halt when Hawkeye stopped, hoping it looked planned.

Fury was flanked by Agents Sitwell and Coulson, and Tony didn’t imagine that Hawkeye’s face got even stonier.

“Sir, please be aware that there is a high rate of possibility that Agent Sitwell will attempt to murder Hawkeye.”

At times like these, Tony wanted to strangle his computer. So, he played it cool. “Gentlemen, or gentle agents, whatever, do we want to air our dirty laundry on the bridge?”

Fury tilted his head. “Black Widow already jumped ship?”

Tony didn’t miss Sitwell’s smirk but Coulson just stared at Hawkeye like some sort of creep. When he’d envisioned this playing out, he’d pictured a conference room, but if Fury wanted to play on the bridge, Tony was happy to school him on why giving him a large audience was a bad idea. Or so Pepper always said.

“Okay!” Tony clapped his hands and pointed at the nearest screen, which happened to be large enough to be seen from space. “Recent events have forced me to do some thinking, and while Pepper says nothing good ever comes from that, this time I’m inclined to agree with her.”

The screens, all of them, flickered and a picture of Senator Stearns appeared.

Fury narrowed his eyes, but Tony’s eyes were for Sitwell, who lost his smirk damn fast.

“Perhaps Agent Sitwell would like to explain--.”

“That’s enough. My office. Now.” Fury snapped out each word.

Tony strutted to the front railing. “No. These people deserve to know who, or what, they’re working for!”

The audio came on, loud enough to be heard two decks away. JARVIS had it cranked.

“I’m going to get the Iron Man suit from Stark. You’re tasked with killing Hawkeye,” Senator Stearns said. Tony recognized the senator’s voice, and he could see that several other people did as well.

The voice changed. “Sitwell wanted him dead.”

“Then he should’ve come along for the ride. I’m not killing Hawkeye. You gonna risk Black Widow finding out?”

JARVIS flicked picture after picture of Stearns meeting with Sitwell in New York and a few of Hawkeye, beaten and bloody. One of the captures had Coulson, clearly cozy with both Sitwell and Sterns at a restaurant in New York, as well.

When the silence threatened to erupt, Tony made a slicing gesture, and JARVIS cut to a picture of Howard Stark. “You see, my dear old dad started this club, with a little help, and my new friend, Hawkeye, asked me a very important question while I was creating a lab for my armor. Why do so many of us have dead parents? And on the surface, it sounds ridiculous, until you dig a little deeper. See beyond the obvious. Hawkeye’s good at that.”

Pictures and associations filled the screens. Hawkeye eased to within a breath of Tony’s back.

Tony smiled widely at Fury. “You, Director Fury, have some house cleaning to do in your club. I’m going to take a page from my father and start a new one. But I’m not going to recruit Hydra to help with my tech.”

JARVIS opened the audio again, and it was easy to hear Senator Stearn’s whispered voice. “Hail Hydra.”

The stunned silence erupted into a roar, and Tony felt Hawkeye move. Fury said, the calm in the storm, “Thanks, Stark. Really.”

“Your venue. My show.”

********


	28. Fifteen minutes earlier

********

Every hallway was a slice of hell, and Clint wished desperately for a bow in his hands. The knife he’d hidden in one of his many pockets was little comfort. A hand grenade would’ve helped him feel better about all this. Stark had a look on his face like he was giddy with the amount of trouble he was about to cause. It was unsettling, to say the least.

Every corner, Coulson wasn’t there. Clint prayed when he finally did see him that he wouldn’t make some sound that would betray how stupid he was to never give up hope. All these years, he’d given up everything else, but never hope.

Stark handed him the comm for his ear, and he tucked it inside, glad he’d have a line to JARVIS. The ride in the quinjet had been quiet, and Clint had been surprised that Stark had bothered to keep him company.

The pilot hadn’t even questioned his orders. Clint had watched Stark carefully, noticing the casually placed hand on the helm. If Clint were a betting man, he’d guess that JARVIS was in control of the quinjet. Hell, JARVIS probably ran the helicarrier by now.

One more corner, and they headed to the bridge. Fury waited for them near the conference table, flanked on either side by Sitwell and Coulson. Clint clenched his jaw, wanting to punch one and kiss the other. The smirk on Sitwell’s face needed rubbed off, but Coulson looked like that mission in Budapest when he hadn’t slept for three days.

Clint made sure not to lock eyes with him. Fury opened with an insult, no big surprise, and Clint analyzed the way Sitwell was standing, mapping out where his weapons were: small caliber gun on the ankle, gun tucked behind, and something in the coat pocket. Coulson had no visible bulges, but he was never without something lethal, even if it was just a paperclip.

Fury’s gun was obvious, but he rarely needed it to hurt someone. Clint listened to the security guards discuss his aborted murder again, and he slid closer to Stark’s back. Someone needed to stand there, and it fell to him. He was sure he imagined a bare nod of approval from Coulson.

Images flew on the screens, and Sitwell’s breathing grew harsh. A picture of Coulson having lunch with Sitwell and Stearns made Clint see red. All the words, all the smiles, all the lies made sense now. Coulson had set him up, and Sitwell had planned to knock him over.

Everyone knew Coulson and Sitwell were tight. They’d been partners at one point. Sitwell flexed his hand into a fist, and it was almost time to move. Clint put his back to Stark’s. The word ‘Hydra’ made Clint flinch, and the people who hadn’t reacted were the enemy.

Coulson bolted towards Fury, no surprise, but Sitwell went for his gun. Clint didn’t care who the target was. He dipped his hand into Stark’s pocket and nailed Sitwell right between the eyes with the latest Starkphone. Sitwell dropped like a ragdoll, and Clint spun, drawing his knife and stopping the tip before it slashed Coulson’s throat. A gun pointed right at Clint’s forehead, and now Clint looked into Coulson’s eyes. Everything but this moment faded away.

It shouldn’t have been possible to hear Coulson’s ragged voice over the chaos raging on the bridge. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t. You know that.”

“You lied to me so many times,” Clint spat, not sure of anything. “All those pretty words meant nothing. I was never anything more than a weapon! How many people did I murder for Hydra?”

Coulson flinched, full body, and his eyes blew wide. Without one care for the knife at his throat, he spun and pointed the gun at Fury. “Was it all a lie?” The words ripped out of him, raw and broken. Coulson’s actions answered every question Clint had. A man who worshiped Captain America would never join Hydra. Checking over his shoulder, Clint pushed Stark out of the way of a fist and pulled him to safety near Coulson and Fury.

“Did you take care of the senator?” Clint asked, willing to volunteer for that job.

“Natasha is handling it. I didn’t ask how.” Stark really was a genius. “You realize that phone was worth a half a million dollars.”

“It’s fine. You make them sturdy.” Clint saw a slight tremor in Coulson’s arm. Carefully, he put a hand on Coulson’s shoulder. “Fury isn’t Hydra. If he was, he’d have let Stark die from the poison in his chest.”

“Thank you, Hawkeye.” Fury took the gun from Coulson’s hand and holstered it. “Cheese, get Sitwell to a cell. I’ll clean this mess up.”

“That’s our cue to exit stage left.” Stark tugged Clint towards the door. “Jarvis, get Hawkeye’s quinjet warmed up.”

Clint watched Coulson go to Sitwell, scooping down and tossing the phone in their direction. He caught it without trying, sliding it back in Stark’s pocket. “Sitwell has something in his coat.”

Coulson nodded, searching him thoroughly. “Get out of here. Keep Stark safe.”

It was an order, and Clint waited until Coulson looked at him again. Coulson smiled, crinkles at the corner. “Please.” One word that somehow healed a lot of the wounds Clint carried.

A chair flew by, and Clint grabbed Stark and started running. It was time to get off the helicarrier, before Fury started shooting. Stark, in his armor, beat Clint out of the fighter bay.

“New York, Jarvis?” Clint asked, glad he was piloting. He needed to do something, not think.

“Indeed, Hawkeye. I suggest you hurry. Sir is insufferable at times like these.”

“All the time is what you mean.” Clint pushed the quinjet after Iron Man. “Jarvis, next time remind me to bring more weapons, okay?”

“I agree that does seem prudent in the future.”

Adrenaline made Clint talk. “Do you think Coulson is Hydra?”

“Evidence would suggest otherwise, but it would be easy to tar him by association with Agent Sitwell.”

“I should’ve skewered Sitwell.” But Clint hadn’t because the bigger threat had been Coulson. “Fucking Hydra.”

“Hey, Legolas, shake a leg!” Stark’s voice blasted over the speaker. “Black Widow needs picked up in Pittsburgh, ASAP.”

“Roger that.” Clint relied on JARVIS to give him the details, glad the helicarrier had been over the United States, not Japan. He coaxed the engines to a little higher efficiency and began adjusting all the equipment to suit himself. “Hydra’s not getting this baby back.”

Twenty minutes later, Clint plucked Natasha off a rooftop. She closed the hatch and slid gracefully into the co-pilot’s seat. “Thanks. Coulson?”

“He was fine when I left the helicarrier,” Clint growled, noticing that she hadn’t asked about his shoulder. “I thought you were in New York.”

“I thought you were moping around Stark’s beach house like a kicked puppy.” Natasha bit right back at him. “Fury?”

“Getting ready to shoot people, last I saw.” Clint didn’t want to talk about it, ever. “Jarvis, put up the video, that I know you recorded, for her.”

“Your faith in me is heartwarming.”

Pretending not to watch, Clint never looked away from Coulson’s face. Calm and collected were two words that perfectly described Coulson any day of the week, but not in the video. Coulson looked exhausted, angry, horrified, and desperate. Clint hated that he’d left him behind, and hated that he still cared.

Would always care.

He was so fucked.

“I’ll never get over him, will I? For me, he was it. I could have sex with a thousand more people and it would never compare to one time in his office when I came in my pants.”

“You love him, you idiot. Sometimes, we love people who don’t love us back, or don’t care, or stomp on our hearts and laugh.” She shrugged. “You can’t get over him because that’s not what you do. When you love someone, you never stop, even when they don’t deserve your loyalty.”

That truth hurt like a knife to his gut, but he couldn’t deny it, so he just stared at her, slack-jawed.

“But what I want to know is why the hell did you have sex with Stark?”

“I didn’t! Do you think I’m nuts? The guy is with Pepper, and she’d kill me!” Clint blinked at her, unable to believe it.

“He said you did.”

“Oh, like he never lies just to screw with people.” Clint huffed, deciding to buy those arrows at Wal-Mart after all and shoot Stark in the ass. “Jarvis?” he whined.

“Avenger Barton never engaged in intercourse with Sir,” JARVIS said, “when I was able to observe them.”

“You had to keep talking, didn’t you?” Clint would find a way to get back at him.

“Simply attempting to be accurate.”

Natasha punched him in the arm and smiled. “Good enough.”

“Anyway, Hill told me you had sex with him and congratulated me on picking a great lay.” Clint smiled back at her, grinning when her eyes flashed with anger.

“I did not!”

After a second, they both laughed.

********


	29. Now

********

“Place looks great, Pep.” Tony led with a compliment, hoping she knew nothing about his recent activities at SHIELD. The less said about destroying his dad’s organization the better. “I’m on time, right?”

Pepper raised her eyebrows, looking classically perfect behind her desk, and he started to wish he’d stopped for a shower after ditching the suit. She pointed at a chair, and he sat down because he knew that look in her eye. She wasn’t happy.

“First, thank you for being on time. Secondly, you’re insane.”

Tony kept his smile in place. “Did you know Hawkeye knocked out a man using one of my new phones today? Could we use that in advertising? Strong enough to take out a man!” He used his announcer voice. “Warranty void if thrown like a Frisbee!”

She smiled, but it faded fast, and while he was an idiot, he was no fool. He surged to his feet and began pacing. “Pepper, I’m not giving up Iron Man. I thought, maybe I could, for you, but I know now, I can’t. It’s what I’m supposed to do, so I have a question for you. Is this what you want? Does this make you happy? When I made you CEO, I did it because I was dying and I wanted you to have everything.”

“Tony,” she said, using his name to express her dismay.

“I know. Listen, if you want to do something else, tell me. I’ll make it happen.” He stopped in front of his chair and collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. “Just tell me what you want. Please.”

There was a long pause, and then Pepper got up and came around to him, sitting in the chair next to him. “Stark Industries is a challenge. I like challenges. This is the job I want.”

“Thank God, because you rock at it. You are the best.” Tony saw in her eyes what was coming next. It hurt like shrapnel to the heart. “You and I are the major shareholders. I want to fund the Avengers, do some good in the world.”

She sighed. “I’ll be honest. Stark Industries can do it, but you’re going to have to work at it. Finish designs, keep our stock up, or we’ll fail. Losing the military contracts cost us billions, you know this.”

“I do know.” Tony would do it. He’d make time. “So, I have an office?”

“That you do.” She smiled, but he could see her shifting gears, slipping away. “We’ll work together?”

The question was tentative, like she was truly worried. Tony nodded like a bobble head, getting up to kiss her on the forehead. “You’re the boss. You keep me focused, and I’ll keep you in nifty gadgets that’ll make millions.”

“About that, Natasha and I agree. She’s going to be doing some of that, and we’re going to hire you a new personal assistant, someone with experience handling difficult people.”

“I prefer ‘brilliant’ over ‘difficult,’ but that sounds good.” Tony extended his hand and helped her to her feet. He needed to say one more thing. “I’ll always love you.”

“And I’ll always love you. But we’ll both be happier this way.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m planning on staying here in New York. Jarvis is having my things shipped from California.”

“Sure.” Tony clamped down on his feelings, shoving it all aside until later, maybe never. “I’ll be back and forth. Can’t leave Dummy alone too long.”

“We’ll coordinate through Jarvis, but Tony, the Avengers need a leader, not a mechanic.”

Tony pointed at her and smiled, a real one. “The Avengers need both, and I have a plan for that.”

“Sir, the quinjet is landing on the roof.”

“Lay out the welcome wagon, Jay.” Tony headed for the door, waving goodbye. As soon as he hit the hallway, he slumped against the wall. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He rubbed his face, hating himself for letting her go without a fight. His bed would be empty, now. His life would be nothing but work and superheroes, now. He wished she hadn’t looked relieved.

Someone put their hand on his arm, but he didn’t flinch. “I’m an idiot.”

“We know,” Natasha said. “Hawkeye, he’s with you. I’ve got Pepper.”

Tony looked up, meeting Barton’s eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Stop your sniveling.” Barton rolled his eyes, strengthened his hold on Tony’s arm, and started pulling. “Shield sent me these big boxes. I want you to check for bombs.”

“Jarvis?”

“I am detecting small amounts of explosive material within one of the boxes.”

Tony’s fingers twitched, and he started moving a little faster. “This could be fun.”

“Or we could explode.” Barton nodded. “It’ll be great.”

“Perhaps I should alert the bomb squad?” JARVIS asked.

“Don’t take away my fun, Jay. I have so little in my life,” Tony said.

********


	30. Thirty minutes later

********

“I still say it’s disappointing,” Stark grumbled.

Clint ran through the arrow options again, keeping his finger well off the red button. “I need to shoot something.” He knew who’d done this for him. It felt good, and it hurt like hell. Coulson should be in Portland with his girlfriend, not doing favors for a washout. “Did she really move to Portland?”

Stark tilted his head. “Far as I know, yes. I guess that quiver is a love letter, of sorts. You gonna call him?”

“Oh, hell no.” Clint meant that. He tested the pull with his weak shoulder again. “I suppose I have to do my shoulder exercises now.”

There was a tinkle of ice, and Clint watched him pour a hefty-sized whiskey. Losing a woman like Pepper would make any man need a drink. Clint gently twanged the polyethylene bowstring, figuring he’d need a better finger tab and maybe an extra arm guard. He wandered toward Stark, taking the offered drink when it appeared in front of him.

“To old lovers,” Stark said, and they clicked glass.

They drank.

********


	31. Unknown about time later

********

Everything in the world was hazy, blurry, and it wasn’t the words that brought Clint surging to his wobbly legs. It was the tone. There wasn’t enough booze in the world to make him forget that voice.

“Oh, you’re alive,” Coulson said. “Jarvis, alert the media.”

“I’m certain FOX news will make it their top of the hour story.”

“I’d argue with your tagging ‘news’ after their name, but I agree.” Coulson was really there, being all smart ass and smirky.

Clint fell over, needing to puke. He stared up at the ceiling and wondered how all those knives had gotten there. “Jarvis, where am I?”

“You’re in hell,” Coulson answered. “The bathroom is to the left, if you need to vomit.”

Hating him more than a little, Clint used a random sofa to pull himself to his feet and started staggering that direction. He nearly tripped over Stark, who didn’t seem to be dead, but Clint wasn’t sure of anything right now.

“Where’s my bow, Jarvis?” Clint whispered.

“You put it safely away before getting out the knives.”

“Thank god.” Clint slumped over the sink to splash cold water on his face and dry heave a few times.

“There is Tylenol in the cabinet, Mr. Barton,” JARVIS said.

Not answering, Clint fumbled it open and took four, washing them down with a handful of water. Rubbing his eyes, he managed to find the toilet. He tried not to groan as he pissed out about a gallon of booze, legs wobbly. It was then he realized he was wearing nothing but boxers and an AC/DC shirt with holes in it. “Did Stark and I not have sex again?”

“That is correct.”

“No one would ever believe this,” Clint mumbled. He shielded his eyes from the lights and took a hard look around the bathroom. “Is there a door I’m missing?”

“There is no way to avoid Mr. Coulson,” JARVIS said. “And the air ducts are not wide enough for your shoulders.”

“Damn.” Clint also hated that JARVIS knew him so well. He washed his hands and considered getting under the cabinet until much later, but suddenly, Stark pushed him aside.

“God, I hate that man.” Stark started ripping off his clothes – he’d had on jeans at least – and JARVIS turned on the shower. Clint considered slugging him for one second and then snatched up the jeans. They fit well enough. He wasn’t facing his worst nightmare and best dream in his boxers, not again. Stark, naked, got in the shower, still ranting about Coulson and other stuff that made no sense to Clint’s booze-addled brain.

When Stark took a break to puke, Clint sidled out the door. The sunshine was like hell stabbing through his brain, and he focused on finding the elevator door. It’d take him somewhere away from here. He needed that.

“I’m impressed.”

Clint cringed, not wanting to even glance at him. His eyes weren’t working all that well, anyway.

“Most men would’ve slept with him.”

“Jarvis, help me,” Clint whispered, desperation replacing embarrassment.

“I believe Mr. Barton’s affections lie elsewhere,” JARVIS said. “And Sir would never take advantage of someone who cannot give consent.”

Blinking, Clint found himself staring at the ceiling. “Exploding arrows are in your future.” He started again for the elevator, determined to make it this time, but a strong hand caught his arm and he didn’t have the courage to shrug it away. “What?” he whispered, words tumbling out despite his effort to be quiet. “Are you going to remind me that I’m nobody to you? That you have better things to do? That I’m not worth your time?”

Coulson slid his hand down and away. “Sitwell tried to have you killed.”

The clumsy avoidance of Clint’s questions made him sneak a peek. Coulson had his hands in his pockets, and he might’ve looked good in his suit. Clint sighed and gave up on the elevator. “Tell me something new.” He half-turned, willing to go that far. “Fury is okay?”

“He betrayed your trust. He practically handed you to Hydra; he didn’t bother to look for you until Stark poked him, and you ask about his health?”

Flushing, Clint shrugged. “He never lied about how he was going to lie to me. I always knew he’d get rid of me someday. He was a good boss.” He was aware how stupid he sounded, especially when he saw disbelief flit across Coulson’s face. “Are we done? I need… stuff.”

Not food, but other stuff, and he could sleep some more.

“Director Fury is fine.” Coulson stood up a little straighter. “I don’t have better things to do. You’re worth every minute of the rest of my days, and if either of us is a nobody, that would be me.”

Clint swallowed hard and stared at him, not even sure what to think about all that. He dimly heard the ding of an open elevator door, and he went for it. Natasha strolled by him, eyes bright and cheerful, and he didn’t want to ask her what the hell was happening. The elevator doors shut behind him, and as he turned, it hit him. One little word dropped like a bomb into Clint’s brain.

“Jarvis, you said ‘ _Mister_ Coulson?’” Clint put both hands on the door and leaned, just knowing he was screwed.

“Mr. Coulson is an employee of Stark Industries, as of yesterday at five pm. His contract gives him the flexibility to consult with Shield, but--.”

“Let me guess,” Clint interrupted. “He’s Stark’s new assistant.”

“Correct. Astute, as usual.” JARVIS paused. “His job will be expanded to encompass all the Avengers, as they are brought into the tower.”

“Wait.” Clint slumped against the door. “What?”

“He’s also your assistant.”

“Okay, just, no.” Clint flinched when the doors opened, stumbling out to find himself on the floor he vaguely remembered as his own. He managed to find a bed, stripped off Stark’s clothes, and crawled under the covers. He wasn’t coming out, ever. But his brain wouldn’t shut off, and when he rolled over, his own stench caught up with him, and he quit trying. Throwing back the covers, he went to find the bathroom and the shower.

By the time he toweled off, he felt a little more alive, headache less of a roar and more like a dull pounding. He skipped shaving, brushed his teeth for ten minutes, and refused to meet his own bloodshot eyes in the mirror. Towel around his hips, he went to find clothes.

It was only then that he realized how big his room was, and he got tired of all the sunshine in a real hurry. “Jarvis, can you pull the drapes or something?”

The windows changed immediately to a dark gray, and his headache thanked him. He hated the big kitchen, disliked having three sofas, a reading nook, and so many chairs. Also, the beige – cream – whatever – paint made him want to puke. When his towel dropped off, he gave up. “Closet, Jarvis?”

“Back towards the bathroom, look for the blinking light.” JARVIS was always helpful, except when he wasn’t.

“Thanks, but I’m still blowing you up later,” Clint growled. He found the walk-in closet and stopped to stare in horror. “I have to wear all this shit?”

“Miss Potts was concerned that you didn’t have the appropriate clothes for media outings.”

“Coulson was right. I’m in hell.” Clint didn’t have energy for all this today, or any day. He did poke in a few corners, finding places to hide or stash weapons. The amount of furniture in this closet bothered him. “Do people really need couches in their closet?” he muttered.

Yanking out a drawer, he found a pile of purple T-shirts. He pulled one over his head and decided it was the softest shirt that had ever been on his body. From there, he went searching for underwear. There were boxers and briefs, and a pile of jocks. He went with the briefs and jeans with pre-made holes in them.

Boots seemed like too much work, so he went full hillbilly, no socks, padding out of the closet and slamming the door. “Later, Jarvis, I’m yelling at someone about this crap.”

“Noted.” JARVIS sounded amused, the jerk. “Mr. Coulson asked me to inform you that there is an Avenger’s meeting in the main kitchen in ten minutes.”

“I could’ve told you not to hire him.” Clint hated meetings, but he wasn’t against the idea of finding food. He followed blinking lights through the Tower, taking note of everything and deciding he’d rather live by the ocean. “Now it’ll be nothing but meetings and organization and paperwork, so much paperwork.”

“Sounds refreshing,” JARVIS said, right as Clint cleared the last door to find himself in a kitchen big enough for a large table, a couple of corner nooks, and another sofa along the far wall. Oh, and enough windows to blind a man with a hangover. Thankfully, Jarvis grayed them out before Clint began to whimper.

“Stark, why the hell do you have so many couches? Does Stark Industries make them now? Did you give up missiles for furniture?” Clint was capable of getting his own coffee, barely, and finding a spot at the big wooden table near the end.

“Pepper has a thing. I indulge it.” Stark nursed his own cup, slumped at the table with his face leaning against his hand. “And before you starting bitching, I didn’t hire the man, and I fired him twice already today.”

“He doesn’t have authority to do that,” Coulson said, striding in the door with a folder tucked under his arm. Clint decided to look at his coffee instead of the perfectly pressed suit and smile that Coulson was wearing. He hunched his shoulders and hooked his feet into the rungs of his chair, feeling like the homeless drifter that he was.

Stark took a noisy slurp, just to annoy Clint. “Like your rooms?”

“No.” Clint was thinking of moving out as soon as possible. “There’s a fucking sofa in my closet.”

“Those are good for when you’re sorta drunk and you don’t want anyone to find you, and you need a place to collapse.” Stark didn’t look offended in the least. He waved his cup in a circle, not spilling a drop. “We’ll work on it. I’ll put in a vending machine and a blinking light. You’ll feel right at home.”

“I like Snickers.” Clint took a big drink and knew that Stark hadn’t made the coffee. And that it wasn’t Folgers. “My body is going into shock. This coffee is terrible!”

“It’s a quality bean, you coffee heathen!” Stark smacked his lips. “It won’t give you the shits like Folgers.”

“That’s the best part of waking up.” Clint laughed into his mug. He could admit the coffee wasn’t awful, but not to Stark. Natasha came strolling through the door, and Clint hoped she wasn’t here to hit him. She took her coffee from Coulson, who Clint still wasn’t looking at, and sat down across from them.

“Why does the back of your shirt say ‘Corndog’?” Natasha asked before she took a sip. “And good coffee, Stark. Living here might not be terrible.”

Clint swept up a nearby spoon and threw it without looking, but Coulson swatted it away with his folder to clang against a cabinet. Clint growled, “He can’t protect you forever, Tony boy.”

“Um, hello?”

Everyone stopped, except Coulson, of course, who stepped forward with his usual class and put out his hand. “Good to meet you, Dr. Banner.”

Dr. Bruce Banner was the answer to what Natasha had been doing lately. Tony swarmed him, talking a mile a minute, and that gave Clint time to hide behind his coffee and have a small meltdown. This was real, not some sort of weird game Tony was playing. They were going to be a team: the Avengers. Fighting crime, or aliens, or whatever SHIELD couldn’t handle, like… Hydra.

“Shit, we have to go after Hydra,” Clint said, noticing a tiny flinch at the corner of Coulson’s mouth. He took a huge drink, mind flitting through a number of scenarios. “The helicarrier?”

“Secure. The Triskelion is not.” Coulson stared at him intently, assessing. “Welcome back, Hawkeye.”

Not sure he wanted the answer, he asked Stark, not Coulson, “How long was I drunk? A year?”

“Long enough to prove to me that you’re an idiot, again,” Natasha said, smiling at him sweetly.

Clint grunted into his coffee, refusing to act as if he cared, and he knew she didn’t mean it, not much anyway. Coulson moved to pull out the chair at the end of the table, and Stark stopped harassing Bruce.

“Not your chair. Sit there.” Stark pointed to the chair next to Clint. “Or stand up. Don’t care, but not there.”

“Someone still to join this crazy party?” Clint asked, silently praying Coulson didn’t sit down next to him.

“Yes.” Stark turned back to Bruce, rambling about a paper, or something. Clint swore the hair on the back of his neck stood up as Coulson took the chair next to him and sat, folder at the ready. They were close enough to bump each other, and he looked at Natasha, pleading with his eyes for her to do something, but all she did was smirk.

“Dr. Banner, have you met Clint Barton?” Coulson asked.

Hunkering down a little more, Clint waved at him. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Bruce smiled, hiding behind his mug. “We haven’t met before, have we?”

“Nope.” Clint had never been on site during a Hulk encounter. He had watched video of the destruction, and he was more impressed than ever at Stark’s insanity. “If you’re gonna tear things apart, start with my room.”

“Sure.” Bruce said it with no conviction, voice warbling. “I’m still not sure about this, Mr. Stark.”

“Trust me. You’re going to do great.” Stark smiled, all teeth and flash. “Ten floors of R and D. This tower is like candy land.”

“You haven’t had an incident in over a year, Dr. Banner,” Coulson said. “There are a lot of people who believe you’ve found a way to control it.”

“It doesn’t like being controlled,” Bruce said with a rumble in his voice. “Sometimes, nothing stops it.”

Everyone found their coffee very interesting, except Natasha, who patted Bruce on the hand. “Everyone at this table has a monster inside them. Yours is just more honest.”

Bruce blinked, and Clint rolled his eyes. Someone had a crush on Big Green, and he was going to tease her later. Coulson cleared his throat, and that meant the meeting had started. These idiots didn’t know it, but their lives as they knew them were over. Coulson would organize the Tower to suit his needs, and everyone would fall in line. Clint had seen it often enough. Wherever Coulson went, order followed. Whoever had hired Coulson clearly had a grudge against Stark, and Clint’s money was on Pepper. Women were vindictive and unpredictable. Also, Stark needed some order in his life, and the fact that he’d hate it made it even better. But before Coulson could take over, Stark got to his feet.

“You’re not in charge. You’re the assistant.” Stark gave Coulson a mighty glare that wouldn’t work, but Clint wouldn’t dream of warning him. Stark used his hands a lot when he talked, and sure enough, Coulson took over after about six minutes. The words were familiar, and Clint didn’t really listen. He knew Coulson’s plans. Clint would be eyes up high, and then storm in the back door to take care of anyone they’d missed. Nothing new here, so he had plenty of time to worry about how exactly he was going to leave the kitchen without looking like an idiot.

He had several choices: get with Tony, pretend he needed something, and trail him to his shop, or make Natasha hide him, or Clint could throw his coffee on Coulson’s freshly pressed shirt and run. That last one had potential. It was hard to concentrate when Coulson was right next to him, smelling good and looking sexy. Damn it.

“Clint?”

He glanced over and frowned. Natasha laughed. “He never listens to these briefings. You’re rusty, Coulson.”

“I was hoping for the best.” Coulson sighed. “Stark, anything to add?”

Stark looked confused and then sighed. “I hate you? Okay, team, listen up. We’re going to save what’s left of Shield. I don’t remember why. Brucie, you sit this one out. Shield is so stupid that anything could happen.”

Clint couldn’t help but laugh. “Banner, Tony’s not joking. Shield might try to capture you, and that wouldn’t end well for any of us.”

Banner nodded, taking off his glasses. “I want to be part of this team.”

Coulson took over again, outlining different ways he expected Bruce to contribute, and Stark kicked Clint under the table. Clint gave him the finger and mouthed, ‘You’re stupid.’

Coulson flicked Clint’s ear. Natasha laughed into her coffee, and Clint went from feeling awkward, confused, and miffed to being goddamn angry. He surged to his bare feet and slammed into Coulson, not budging him more than an inch.

“You don’t have the right to do that!” he roared, knowing the words were stupid and wrong.

Later, he’d marvel at how fast Stark hustled Bruce out the door with Natasha right behind them, pushing. Right now, he wanted to punch Coulson in the nose. His breath came fast, and he clenched his toes into the floor for balance, fighting for control. Coulson met Clint’s furious eyes calmly, and then, before Clint could do anything, he slid to his knees. A chair crashed backwards to the floor, but neither of them cared. Clint felt like his lungs collapsed, not understanding how to breathe any longer. Coulson clenched his hands into Clint’s thighs.

“I’m sorry for everything I didn’t do.”

“Christ.” Clint didn’t know what to do with his fists, or anything else. He needed to fall down, grab his head, and rock until sanity returned, but that wasn’t an option. “Phil. Stop.”

“No. I screwed up.” Coulson ducked his head away. “So bad. God damn it. I hate it when Stark is right.”

“Me, too.” Clint put his hands in his hair and pulled. He wasn’t good with words, apologies, and he might’ve gulped for air. “Old lovers usually try to kill me. So, this is new.”

“Molly in accounting tried to kill you?” Coulson looked up, eyes sharp and hard.

“Maybe…” Clint refused to talk about it. It’d probably been an accident. He grabbed Coulson by the shoulders and lifted him up. “Listen, I didn’t have any expectations, not really, and you had an assignment, so… let’s just--.”

“No, Clint.” Coulson shook his head. “I’m not letting you make excuses for my bad behavior. I love you, and I ran off instead of telling you.”

Clint turned his back on him, not able to look at him another second. None of this was possible. He took a couple of steps away. “Jarvis, am I currently hallucinating?”

“No, Avenger Barton, you aren’t.”

“Huh.” Clint stared down at his bare toes.

“I didn’t betray you out of anger and disgust. I was scared.”

That made sense. “Fury told me you were marrying her. I might’ve gone a little crazy.” Clint shrugged.

“He wanted you with Stark.” Coulson sounded sad, but Clint wasn’t ready to look at him. “Clint, I never lied to you. I ran off like an idiot, but I never lied. You are special.”

“Right.” Clint whipped around, anger flooding back at hearing another goddamn lie.

Coulson stepped so they were far too close. He poked him in the chest with his finger. “You’re an Avenger, Clint. There are four of them on the entire planet. Four!”

********


	32. Ten minutes earlier

********

Careful not to actually push him, Tony got Bruce moving, away from the impending explosion of emotions. He understood completely Pepper’s need to torture him with Coulson, but she should’ve--.

“I’ll have to thank Pepper again,” Natasha said, right on their heels. “Clint needs to settle this.”

“You?” Tony waved the elevators opened, a little relieved that Pepper hadn’t set Clint up for this confrontation. “Do you even like Clint?”

“Love hurts.” Natasha smiled at Bruce, who was pretending to study the elevator. Even Tony could tell he was uncomfortable with the conversation. JARVIS dropped them down two levels, and Tony took time to show Bruce the first lab. When he put his eye to a microscope, Tony got in Natasha’s space.

“I’m going to check on him. I don’t trust Coulson’s taser. Keep Bruce happy.”

She tilted her head. “Not a bad idea.”

“Later, we’re discussing this.”

“Go.”

Tony went, not liking her style. He stopped outside the kitchen door. “Jarvis, give me some audio.”

“Clint, you’re an Avenger. There are four of them on the entire planet. Four!”

A perfect moment, and Tony took it, strolling back inside the kitchen. “Five, actually. Maybe six, if I can get Thor back. No doubters, please.” He grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee, glad they weren’t punching each other. Coulson was trying his best to look like a robot – the ones from the movies – but it wasn’t working. Clint looked wrecked, half-a-breath from pretending not to cry, and Tony didn’t like that at all. He leaned against the cabinet and sipped his coffee. “Did I interrupt? Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”

Coulson gave him the look of death. “I think I said everything.”

There was a long moment of awkward silence. Clint sighed. “Tony, I don’t need a guard dog.”

“I disagree.” Tony focused on his coffee, wishing this was code he could tap out in a blink. “This is the thing.” He took a drink to fortify himself. “If you can’t work with Coulson, he’s gone. He knew this when Pepper hired him. If you hate him, which no one on the planet would blame you if you did, he’s out of here.”

Clint had half-turned towards Tony but now he lasered in on Coulson. “Are you saying all this shit because you want this job?”

“No. Hell, no.” Coulson squared his shoulders, looking fierce. “I wanted this job because I needed another chance with you.”

“And everyone in what’s left of Shield thinks you’re Hydra,” Tony drawled. “Am I right?”

Coulson put his hands on his hips. “Fury told me to take it for that reason.”

“Guess Stark has you too, now, huh?” Clint smirked.

“Guess so.” The tension went out of Coulson. “We have a mission.”

“If we can pull Natasha away from her big, green crush.” Clint padded over to Tony and glared at him until Tony looked sheepish. “You’re a dick, Stark.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” Tony shrugged, not feeling any guilt. “Give Jarvis your answer, Clint.”

After another glare and a groan, Clint nodded. “I want him here.”

Tony was fairly sure he saw Coulson suppress a grin. “Yes, yes, I’m sure the nuptials will be soon. I better get an invite, which I’ll ignore, but Jarvis and Pepper will send a lovely gift. Now, let’s go save Shield. My armor is lonely.”

“You’re so weird.” But Clint grinned. “Time to shoot stuff!”

That was one of the things Tony liked about Clint.

********


	33. Two days later

********

Clint considered staying in the elevator. Exhaustion, blood, and filth and the need to get rid of all of it couldn’t overcome his extreme desire to avoid Coulson. During the mission, they’d worked seamlessly together, finding the weaknesses of the enemy and moving through the Triskelion without a hitch, but that didn’t mean anything.

Hydra had scurried away as soon as it became evident they were losing. Tony had made it his mission to make sure the tech they were trying to steal was destroyed, and he’d seemed to enjoy his work.

Bruce had coordinated their efforts with the help of JARVIS, and now that the dust had settled, Natasha was gone. Clint knew she’d headed straight to Fury to report. She’d be back, probably with orders to push the Avengers towards another Hydra facility. Clint sighed, leaning against the elevator wall and watching the numbers go up.

“Jarvis, where is Coulson?”

“He is currently in his suite.”

“Are my rooms still so damn ugly?”

“There have been extensive modifications made to your living space.” JARVIS sounded pleased with himself, if that was possible.

“Did you take it upon yourself to get it right?” Clint now wished the elevator would hurry.

“I did.”

Clint laughed, moving as quickly as his exhaustion would allow when the elevator doors opened. He crashed into his door, figured out again how doorknobs worked, and bumbled his way into his suite.

“I take back the whole I’m blowing you up thing.” Clint needed a shower right now, but he took a moment to bask in the purple. “And a loft. Oh, Jarvis, you are my new boyfriend.”

“I’m sure if I could be, I’d be thrilled.”

Luckily, the shower hadn’t changed, because it’d been perfect to begin with, and when Clint stepped into the closet, he grinned and hugged the vending machine. “My life is complete.”

JARVIS wisely didn’t laugh at him. He pushed the buttons for a Snickers bar, glad it didn’t need money because he was broke, and chewed on it while putting on another Corndog shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The shirts were soft. That’s what mattered. He padded back to the main living space, but before he could head up into the loft, there was a knock on the door.

There was no doubt it was Coulson, and Clint groaned, too tired to eat, much less deal with this train wreck.

“Do you wish me to inform Mr. Coulson that you aren’t available?” JARVIS asked.

“Shit,” Clint said the word with a long drawn-out sigh. He wasn’t capable of sending him away. “Come in!” he yelled, not wanting to walk the distance to the door.

It eased open, and Coulson was there, still in the same suit. “We need to de-brief,” he said, but the words lacked something – something like conviction.

Clint had wanted to avoid him, and now he didn’t want him to go. “You realize this isn’t Shield, right? There’s no one to turn reports in to? That Tony doesn’t care?”

“There’s always someone who wants reports.” Coulson scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Hydra just went underground. We didn’t win the war.”

Knowing that was one thing, hearing it from Coulson was another. It made it more real, more dangerous. Clint shrugged, too tired to worry about it this instant. “We’ll get them. Go shower, eat, and sleep a minute.”

The door was still open, and Coulson shot a glance at it, and then reached back to push the door shut. It was a simple action, but Clint had a feeling it was the most important thing that had ever happened in his life. He swallowed hard, sure this needed words and there weren’t any in his brain. He’d been hurt too badly to have any. Emotions, sure, he had plenty of those, and some of them weren’t nice, but he could live with them. Some things were more important than being angry.

Clint took a breath, finding his lungs, and stretched out his hand. “Ready now?”

“Please.” Coulson hurried to take him by the hand, locking them together. He opened his mouth to say something else, and Clint tugged him towards the loft.

“Let’s check it out.” Clint pulled him up the narrow stairs, smiling at the huge bed with a purple comforter. There was a railing to block the view from the door and windows along the opposite side. The hard wood was dark, comforting, and he had the feeling there were a few more surprises that JARVIS would let him discover on his own. It was damn perfect.

“There is a button that will retract the stairs to the floor,” JARVIS said. “On your right, near the light switch on the post.”

“Cool,” Clint breathed, pushing it and watching the stairs disappear down into the floor. He could make the jump if he needed to, and he might install a rope or two, for fun. “You’re not getting away now.”

“You forgive me?” Coulson’s voice cracked on the last word.

“Are you gonna stick around while I work on it?” Clint tightened his grip on Coulson’s hand just a little, not to hold him tight but to encourage him.

Coulson ducked his head, hiding his eyes. He tugged and Clint went, and the kiss was slow and easy. Clint might’ve let out a tiny sigh at the end of it. He’d wanted that forever, or at least it seemed that way.

“Anyway, Natasha hit you really hard at the hospital. That helped.” Clint smirked.

“My ribs still hurt.” Coulson groaned, sliding off his suit coat and tossing it over the railing. “I should’ve showered instead of pacing and cursing.”

Clint didn’t care about that. He helped strip Coulson down and enjoyed throwing the clothes to the floor below, but they stopped at the T-shirt and boxers. Another long kiss, and they tumbled onto the bed. They should’ve been too tired. They should’ve talked about it.

And Coulson should’ve insisted on both of those things, but instead, he gave out a needy noise that made Clint finch. Skin that felt so good, enough kisses to leave him breathless, and it all swept him away. He woke up hours later with nothing on but a smile, wrapped in Phil’s arms, and he was home.

********


	34. Two days later

********

“Renovations complete?”

“Of course, sir. On time and far above budget, as requested.”

“Good job, Jay.” Tony stood, wobbled a second, and headed to the kitchen for coffee and food. He wasn’t tired. He was never tired.  
Clint greeted him with an eye roll but poured him some coffee, and Coulson loaded a plate full of food and placed it down on the table. 

“You’re stupid, Stark,” Clint said.

“Me? I’m the smartest man in this end of the galaxy.” Tony sat down with a thunk because his legs were tired. His brain was fine, thank you. He only grabbed the plate when his stomach insisted on it. “Thanks. You two married yet?”

“No,” Coulson said, but he shot Clint a look. Clint shrugged. They sat opposite Tony with their own coffee and food, and Tony would’ve sworn they were holding hands under the table. Natasha and Bruce breezed in before Tony needed a refill. They were laughing, and Tony wondered if he’d taken up living in an episode of The Dating Game. Coulson refilled everyone’s coffee, and Tony saw how Clint watched him.

“Clint, you good?” Tony was only going to ask once.

With a nod, Clint blew him a kiss. “Never better.”

Natasha laughed, again, and Tony saw Bruce blush. She was going to eat him alive. Tony didn’t think Bruce would mind. Two happy couples in the Avengers were enough to make Tony grumble. He missed Pepper, maybe Rhodey, too.

“Sir, The Sixth Chair Protocol has been confirmed and initiated. I am sending coordinates to the quinjet.”

Everyone turned to look at the empty chair at the end at the table, confusion on their faces. Tony’s fatigue dropped away, and he smiled as he got to his feet. Their eyes turned to him, and there was only one thing left to say.

“Avengers Assemble.”

********


	35. The End, not really but later than earlier

********

“So that happened,” Clint said, too tired to take a shower, but he could see by the look on Phil’s face that it really wasn’t optional. Phil closed the door behind them, and Clint just stood there, wishing there really was bleach for his brain. “That happened, right?”

Phil sighed, pulling his tie off. “If you mean, we fought Hydra for two straight days, culminating in a battle where Iron Man let Captain America ride him like a pony to victory, yes.”

“It was wrong.” Clint frowned. “Cap doesn’t even like Tony.”

“Uh huh.” Phil scrubbed a hand through his dirty hair. “And just for the record, I didn’t see them kissing in medical. No, I didn’t.”

“Oh. Glad to hear it.” Clint stuck out his tongue. “Bleah. Just. Bleah.” He found the energy to tug off Phil’s coat and let it drop to the floor. 

“Jarvis, start the shower, please.”

“Of course, and welcome home, Avengers.”

Clint could see that Phil was dazed, probably from being nearly run over by a jeep, or seeing his childhood hero kiss a man he wanted to taze on a regular basis, one or the other. “Come on, Phil.” He took over stripping and herding duty, knowing that Phil hated dirty clothes on the floor but this was an emergency. “Jarvis, maid and food, please.”

“And perhaps an alcoholic beverage or two.” JARVIS was damn smart.

Phil mumbled a few things that Clint ignored in favor of scrubbing him from top to bottom. Clint loved his shower, and he loved Phil in it. “I got you.”

Soapy hands reached, and Clint found himself enveloped in a slick hug. “Clint, seeing, or rather, not seeing them like that, it made me think.”

“Think that we don’t get paid enough?” Clint wasn’t really joking. “Or, think that we could retire and no one would blame us?”

Pushing him a little bit away, Phil’s face was very serious. “Did you ever forgive me? For how I acted? When I was cruel to you? Before we got together?”

Clint blinked, taken off guard. They loved each other. He knew it like he knew how to shoot an arrow. He could see that Phil was worried, so instead of a stupid joke, he took the time to think about it, which he hadn’t before now.

“I know I said it’d take a while to forgive you.” Clint remembered that part, and at the time, he hadn’t been all that serious, but he could see where he’d sounded like it.

“Right.” Phil nodded, looking away, body going tense. “It’s okay that you haven’t. I did a terrible thing, and you thought I was Hydra.”

“Oh, please, for like two seconds.” Clint took a big drink of the water, rinsed his mouth, and spat it down the drain. He slid down into the convenient seat and let the water pound down on him, letting his brain sort it out. “Yes, I forgive you.” And he meant it. “You were being stupid, but it was probably your turn. I can’t be the dumb one all the time.”

“I’m just gonna take it and not argue.” Phil flicked Clint’s ear. He hated it when Clint insulted himself.

Clint grinned and pulled Phil into his lap. “Wanta fool around?”

Phil answered by using his tongue to make Clint whimper, and they both discovered that they weren’t as tired as they thought. The idea of hitting the bed seemed too far away, and as usual, Clint was fascinated by a slicked-up, soapy mess of a Phil Coulson.

“Still not ticklish,” Phil mumbled into Clint’s mouth. Clint thought it was smart to check everywhere on him again, even the hard to reach spots. Phil did do some wiggling, but no giggling, so Clint pulled him as close as possible. Phil grunted. “I’m too old for shower sex.”

“Not even close.” But Clint wanted more, without moving too much, so he stole another grope before saying, “Jarvis, water off.”

Pulling back, Phil quirked his eyebrow at him. Clint grinned and dragged him into the closet and the sofa there, leaving the light off.

“We’re going to do this by the light of a vending machine?” Phil asked, dropping back and pulling Clint on top. Clint used his mouth for better things, sucking his way down Phil’s great body to his cock. Phil gasped. “Guess we are.”

Phil’s cock was damp and delicious, and Clint indulged himself, not stopping until he was throating every inch. As usual, Phil didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, ending up grabbing his own hair and pulling. Clint grinned, licked the top, and went deep over and over again until Phil whined out some nonsense and came in Clint’s mouth.

Pulling off before Phil had finished, Clint reared up to his knees and grabbed his cock, stroking with a sure hand and coming all over him. “Oh, yeah. I still got it.”

Panting, Phil stared up at him. “You…”

“Yeah, I’m cool.” Clint grinned, snuggling down on top of him, smearing it everywhere. “Get me a Snickers, will ya?”

A gentle hand smacked the back of Clint’s head. “I’m on bottom.”

“And you make a great pillow.” Clint tucked his face into Phil’s neck and heaved out a big sigh. “You know it’s true, right?”

There was a long pause, and Clint hoped he didn’t have to explain that he really had forgiven him. Phil kissed the side of Clint’s face. “I know.”

They didn’t move for the longest time. Phil’s voice roused Clint from a doze. “Put donuts in the vending machine, Jarvis.”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done! Thanks for reading this quirky, crazy thing!


End file.
